Losers |H.S|

Chapter 49

I was really doing it.

A week after Harry asked me to move in with him, I was in my filled with boxes apartment on a sunny Friday morning, packing up my belongings. Never imagined how true people were, when they said you never know how much stuff you own, until you have to move out. Man, they were so right, and I was hopeless. I was clueless as to where to start.

Thankfully, Rita and Nancy were there to help with all the chaos littering every surface of this place. It didn't take me much convincing to get them here, since they're both secretly dying for gossip, and trapping me alone in an apartment was the perfect opportunity.

"Damn, if you always had that many shoes, why keep wearing those old things constantly?", Nancy asked with an eyeroll, slightly overwhelmed by the amount of shoes scattered on the living room floor, surrounding her, while I carefully packed glasses from my cupboards in the kitchen.

Rita scoffed loudly from the couch where she sat, basically doing nothing but being her little judgy self. "Bitch you got me, she never takes them off. My eyes are permanently damaged and I blame those red bitches over there", she nodded towards my beautiful boots that rested by the door.

My jaw dropped instantly at the disrespect that was taking place in my own apartment, and defense mixed with fury filled my blood. Slamming the cupboard close, I turned around to face them, with my arms tied under my chest and a scowl on my face. How dare they? And I call them friends?

"Please", Nancy chuckled, placing a pair of white trainers in the big carton box that had the word 'shoes' written outside with black marker. "Have you ever looked at Harry's golden ones? Talking about eyesore".

"Birds of a feather flock together", Rita mumbled before sipping from her special pregnant herbal tea, and they both bursted in loud laughter.

"Both of you, zip it!", I exclaimed, slightly annoyed with their unnecessary roasting over my boots, our boots. I guess they were true, though. We truly are similar in many ways.

"Speaking of who", Rita said when Nancy's laughter calmed down and both of us went back to packing, "what happened with that big-shot producer?".

"Wait, Logan didn't tell you?", I asked, confused, already knowing the outcome of their meeting last Monday.

"Well, he's kinda avoiding me", she responded.

"Why?", Nancy was the one wondering now.

"I might've scared him a lil' bit", she muttered with the cup in front of her lips to hide her guilt, not really answering the question.

"Why?", Nancy's repeated question came out more emphasized this time.

"I'm still a woman with needs, okay?!", Rita exploded, glaring at both of us in turns out of a sudden.

Oh boy.

"Huh?", Nancy raised one brow, unfazed by her little outburst.

Rita exhaled audibly, wiping her palm over her face, and relaxed back on the couch. "Apparently, I can't be mad at him one second for breathing annoyingly loud, and the next second want to jump his brains off", she finally admitted with a pout and a small, adorable frown.

This time it was me cackling along with Nancy, to the point of tearing up. Rita's glare grew bigger and her nostrils flared, which only made us laugh harder.

"Bitch quit it! It's not funny!", she defended like a child, sitting up, spurring us on.

"It's a little funny, babe", Nancy managed to speak between laughs, wiping her right eye.