When We Met

Fifteen

|Donovan|

"Madeline Parker! What the hell are you playing at?" I whine like a cry baby as she literally drags me out of my highly comfortable bed.

"I've had enough of your canoodling with lover boy. You better carry your lazy ass to my house or I'll happily do it for you. We are having a sleepover." She barks and throws my night shorts and a rugged T-shirt in my luxurious bag.

I give her a stink eye and groan. Seriously though. What is wrong with this young lady?

"I suggest you should stop referring to us as best friends now. Get out of my apartment. I fail to recognize your ugly face."

"Aww, how sweet." She gives me a fake smile. "Won't work."

She grabs my hand again and easily sweeps me off my bedroom. It's like all of my complaints have been dumped down the garbage bag.

Yay for Cheryl.

Well, it's safe to say that Madeline Parker has the grip of a fucking sumo wrestler. And by the time we reach her place, my hands and arms are bruised in a severe manner. As if someone manhandled me; which technically this ruthless bitch did.

"Fuck you, Maddie. You ruined my delicate arms." I curse and plop down on her plain mattress.

Yes, she owns two amazing mattresses and not the bed. Apparently, she likes the idea of sleeping close to the ground. Weird, I know.

"Your delicate arms? Who are you, a malnutritioned baby who sulks and cries after timed intervals?" She grabs a bottle of cola from her little cabinet and gulps down a few sips.

I look at the bottle in her hands and make a face.

"Why are you drinking cola? Are you pregnant?" I ask.

"Shut up, bitch. It's you who's mingling with guys. Not me."

"Oh. Are you a lesbian, then?"

"Has some evil power gotten hold of you? Coz it is starting to scare the shit out of me now."

"Nope. I'm plain and simple." I give her a really polite smile.

"Ugh." She takes another sip and almost empties the bottle. "So, tell me. How far have you gone with that bartender?"

"His name is Dylan Martin."

"Aww. Cheeky cheeky. Don't worry, he's all yours."

"Honestly, Maddie. He doesn't even like me. And you keep on tagging me along with him, which is of no help to me. So, just stop it."

Maddie looks at me with an expression that is hard to understand, and gives out a sigh.

"And do you like him, Cheryl Donovan?"

The question hits the right spot, I must say. It knocks the breath out of me and catches me off guard. And I really can't understand why.

Do I like Dylan Martin?

I don't know. I mean, he's a nice guy and extremely good looking. Honestly, we shouldn't even rate his hotness on a limited scale because he'll hit the chartbuster within two seconds.

And he does give me those butterflies in my belly, throwing me back into my teenage years. But, does all this conclude that I have feelings for him?

"Earth to Cheryl." Maddie snaps her fingers in front of my eyes.

"Uh, sorry."

"Doesn't matter. So, do you like him?"

I look her in the eyes and find the reflection of my confused face right between those brown rings. Why am I finding it so hard to answer such a simple question?