Love at First Slice (IN SERIOUS EDITING)

The Fiona Lisa

ch. 12 The Fiona Lisa

Morning came in the form of giggles and snaps coming from a camera. And a yipping puppy.

My eyes fly open and I glance at the two figures in front of me, also known as my completely embarrassing sister and best friend. Then I glance at the figure who I am currently cuddling with, also known as Josh, and blush furiously, stealing glances between the two before breaking away from Josh's grip, who remains asleep.

"I knew we should've separated them," Alex says to the dog in her arms with a tsk. "You can't trust men."

I glare at her, then at Casey, who currently has her Nikon in her right hand, left placed on her hip in a "I-know-what-you-were-doing" sort of way. The look was complete with a mischievous smirk.

"How many pictures did you take?" I ask with a groan. I'd never live this down.

"Just two," Casey assures me.

"Or ten," Alex adds. They high-five. I hate my friends.

"What will it take for me to get you guys to delete them?" I ask impatiently.

Alex grins broadly. "No amount of money could make us ever delete those," She announces. "They're priceless. Like the Fiona Lisa."

Casey whacks Alex with the back of her camera-free hand. "It's Mona Lisa, dumb-ass," Alex looks confused for a moment, then seems to catch on, muttering a whatever.

"This is the second time you two have fallen asleep together," Alex adds excitedly, waving her hands around. "It's, like, fate or some shit."

Casey nods. "I ship it,"

I stand up, towering over her. "Shipping is MY thing," I declare. "You continue on with your normal people stuff. Lay off my things."

She rolls her eyes. "Whatever. Now shoo, there's french toast in the kitchen." She remarked, waving us through my bedroom door. "It'll be cold."

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I snap open the syrup cap, turning it 180 degrees and squeezing the life out of it, the thick, amber liquid flowing out.

After I completed drowning it in syrup, I added cinnamon, confectioner's sugar and whipped cream, I pick up my fork and prepare to jab at the toast, only to see two pairs or eyes watching me like I was some animal at the zoo.

I huff and slam down my fork. "Fine,"

The questions flood in like the Hoover Dam just broke.

"How'd it happen?"

"Is he strong?"

"Why was he in your room?"

"Did you cuddle him?"

"Did he cuddle you?"

"Is he a good cuddler?"

"Is he strong?"

"What's his GPA?"

I rest my chin on the palms of my hands, rubbing my temples. "Deja-vu," I mutter, then take a deep breath.

"I fell on the floor and he wrapped his arm around me and wouldn't let go, yes he's strong, he said he was afraid of the dark, yes I did, yes he did, he's the only person I've ever cuddled, so I don't know, you already asked that one and I still don't know." Somehow, I said it all in one breath and I was on the verge of passing out. I glance up at them, and they look somewhat content. Maybe not Alex. Oh, no. She looked like she was going to explode of excitement.

After a short silence, she bellows: "I SHIP IT SO HARD,"

My heart flutters at the comment and I do my best at containing a blush. "Where's Dylan?" I inquire in attempt to change the topic. Casey's eyes light up at his name.