CHAPTER 4:
Nick, the six-foot something lean, muscular, handsome best friend of mine was just that - mine. I remember ever since we were little he was always there. Of course he's had his fair share of girlfriends and flings, I always came first in his book. Almost like family. He had sandy brown hair that lightened in the summer and darkened in the winter. He was like an ever changing chameleon. When things got sentimental, his light green eyes turned to sea foam green, but every time he was angry they flustered a dark palm tree leaf. It's amazing how I see him every day, but I don't really see him sometimes.
He was willing to forfeit anything just to take me shopping, which was something that no one really ever wanted to do - even if they were a girl.
He was sitting in (more like sinking in) my giant beanbag chair that guarded the middle of my bedroom playing the Xbox he gave me two Christmases ago. Light brown hair tousled roughly every time he lost a kill-streak in Call of Duty and annoyed sigh every time he lost a care package.
I gazed over toward my closet where I set my Charlotte Russe, Macy's, and Wet Seal shopping bags. I scoured the entire mall looking for the perfect clothes for my interview with Colland and Copeland. I hoped it looked professional enough that they would at least hire me as an intern on the job so I could get the feel of how the business works.
Back to the clothes... I bought a dark grey business skirt that fell below the bend in my knee and covered my oddly shaped kneecaps (okay they weren't oddly shaped but I don't really like knees all that much) to the point where it folded perfectly over them when I sat down. A lightly floral printed button-up shirt that was only quarter length, coming just a little passed my elbows to give my arms enough breathing space (I mean who likes having everything covered up, right?) and gave a relaxed business look and showed relief in a tightly packed business space. Finally, the shoes were last. I mean, who can possibly forget shoes? Ariall. Platform. Pumps. Steve Madden's newest designer line were fresh from Macy's, and they came in the most gorgeous eye-popping red-peach. Plus, I practically stole them from all the sales and my Macy's card. They were on sale for 84$ from 170$, but then they took another ten percent off which brought them down to 75.60$. Then my card took another thirty percent off, bringing the total down to 56.62$ with tax. I saved over 100$ on designer shoes... wow am I obsessed or what?
"What are you doing?" Nick interrupted my bag-ogling. He had a wicked hot smile that told me he had a master plan, or he wanted something. Probably both considering the smile played up to his eyes and danced with green fire.
"Huh - me - just, uh nothing." I was caught ogling clothes again. I swear I was going to grow old alone with 80 pairs of shoes - not cats. I will tell you, clothes don't need as much management as cats and they don't smell.
"Clothing-ogler..." he taunted.
I threw a throw (hehe "throw") pillow at him. "Are not!" I whined.
"Hey! I oughta -" He jumped up and tossed the remote aside.
It was on.
Pillow war, as we call it is far more brutal than regular pillow fights because 'fights' were for girls. I made it clear to Nick back in the 8th grade that I was no girl.
I made my mom enroll me in everything I could: kickboxing, Tae Kwan Doe, MMA, regular boxing, and joined a gym. Every month I became more physically fit that my class members started to notice.
Then, Nick challenged me to a pillow war and I accidentally put five holes in a wall, broke a dresser, and managed to break a tree branch (from the inside!) in the process. Ever since then, he wanted to beat me in anything he could - even checkers.
