"Well, because she's an A-class bitch." He replied, casually, like calling random girls a bitch was nothing too unusual.
Cass gasped. "How can you say that? Do you have any idea what she does to guys who call her a bitch, wait no, didn't you also do...
That's another one of Elliot's cars. That guy is seriously rich. *sighs* I think it's a Lamborghini Veneno.
It was time.
Time for the date with none other than your rich and unbelievably handsome Elliot.
And guess what? I wasn't ready.
No, mentally I was all set up. I meant physically. I wasn't exactly what you'd call a 'fashion expert'. As a matter of fact, I'm quite the opposite.
The best I could put up was a pink top with frills accompanied by a pair of black skinny jeans, certain parts of it covered with a layer of undefinable substance.
What could I do? I haven't gone clothes shopping in ages. I generally just take Cass's advice and clothes. And she loves dressing me up, so why not?
This outfit was definitely not right for me.
Sighing, I made my way to the kitchen for a drink of water. On my way, I sneaked a glance at Cass, who was typing something furiously on her phone. Since that night, and I hope you know which night I'm talking about, she hasn't been talking to me. Not a word.
And me being me, I haven't said anything to her either.
"Sorry Cass." I muttered and walked towards the fridge. Gulping down almost all the contents of my water bottle, I walked back into my room to face the horror aka my clothing selection.
But the horror had vanished. Instead, there lay a sexy, long black dress, spread out on the bed.
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This has got be Cass's doings, unless we've got new ghost in our neighbourhood. Or the fashion fairy has taken pity on me.
The last two options seem quite unlikely. The first choice sounds better.
I'll go say a thanks cause' I've got manners.
"Um, uh, Cass?" I said once I was close enough for Cass to hear me. I was facing her backside, and she was still on her phone. She sighed, like she didn't want to talk to me.
That hurt.
Nah, not much. I already know she's upset with me. Lack of conversation between us should make that obvious.
"What?" She asked, not facing me. Her tone was filled with anger.
"I-uh, thank you, you know, for the clothes," I stuttered.
"Whatever." She muttered as she continued typing unknown shit on her phone.
Now this was rude. I was trying to thank her here, and she blandly muttered 'whatever'. But I didn't fuss over it cause' I was the reason, no, part of the reason we were in this situation.
