Not my type
"See?? Isnt he fukkin' hot?," anne stuck out her tongue at me.
"He's..."
"uh-huh?.."
"He's not my type, i said truthfully, and he's not even hot anne," i lied.
Her face when i said that went like this: -_-
"Really?" -_-
"He's eh.," I shrugged
She rubbed her forehead and said, " imma go make myself some damn coffee."
"Fuckkin' hangover fuckkin suck," she muttered, as she got up from the couch and walked into the kitchen.
i yelled at to anne before i left.
"imma go home before my mom gets angry and call u anne!," i yelled from the door.
"uh-huh! see you later hun!"
I swept a final look around the house. The white couch sitting in front of a fire, the big ass t.v. ontop it, and the clear glass sliding doors opening into the pool outside. I wondered how anne even found this beautiful place.
"wish i could find my own fuckkin house and get out of the monsters house.," i silently muttered to myself as i left.
YOU ARE READING
Books I'll (Probably) Never Write
RandomThese are some of my ideas for a book but i'm too lazy to write it. Star the one's you like best and maybe i'll write it ;)
