Page 4 of No More Bad Boys
“Close—I was up on top of a live truck—lots of hard reflective surfaces. How was your show?”
“Fantastic. Larson’s mom agreed to do an interview with us. I’m completely guilty of nepotism, and I don’t even care.” She giggles.
Kenley was recently promoted to associate producer of Inside Style, a fashion and lifestyle news program on WNN’s evening lineup.
Her promotion enabled the two of us to rent this apartment together and finally get out from under the thumb of our meddling and severely priority-confused mother.
Of course, I won’t be able to keep her as a roommate much longer. She got engaged a few months ago to Larson Overstreet, the host of WNN’s Overstreet Live, and the son of famous fashion designer Corina Videau.
I’m happy for her, but selfishly worried forme. I’ll never be able to afford this apartment on my own, and I’d rather live on the streets of downtown Atlanta than move back in with my parents.
“If you’re not going to wear makeup, you should at least start wearing some sunblock. That must hurt like a bee-sting,” Kenley says.
“It’s not so bad,” I lie. “Anyway, my face needed some color.”
“Well, you got that and then some. Youknowanytime you want to learn, I’d be thrilled to teach you to do makeup.”
I roll my gaze over to her and grin, painfully. “Yes, I’ve known that since I was five and you were eight and started painting me up like Dolly Parton. If I ever decide to cross over to the glam side, you’ll be the first to know.”
I poke one cheek and watch as the bright white circle gradually fades and blends back in with my skin’s overall tomato-esque tone. Maybe Ishouldlet her put some makeup on me—just for tonight?
I have a date with a guy from my Heat Transfer class, and—never mind—he’s not likely to care. And I don’t reallycareif he cares.
“So, where you going with—what’s his name?” Kenley asks.
“Troy. A movie, I guess. He picked it out, won’t tell me which one. Says it’s asurprise.” I roll my eyes.
“Oooh. That sounds fun. I love it when guys plan things out and make it special.”
“I doubt that’s it. He was probably just stalling because he doesn’t know what’s playing. His course load is as heavy as mine, and he’s interning with Georgia Power this semester.”
Troy is fine. He’s a nice guy and really smart, but not exactly full of surprises. We have similar interests—mainly school-related. I like him.
But he doesn’tdoanything for me. Not that anyone really does.
What Kenley and Larson have is the exception rather than the rule. I don’t expect it to happen for me.
A flash of red hair and dazzling dimples fills my vision before I blink it away. I lean closer to the mirror and frown at my reflection.
Wow—maybe I got heatstroke as well as sunburn today.
“Well, it sounds to me likebothof you need to lighten up and get a life,” Kenley gently chides. “Have fun tonight. I’ll be over at Larson’s so don’t wait up for me.”
I laugh. “Never do. I think only your wardrobe actually lives here now, and you only come by to visit it.”
“That is not true. I like to see you, too.” She gives me a guilty grin. “Please don’t tell Momma and Daddy, okay? I really don’t want to hear it.”
“You know I never tell her anything. Are you bringing Larson to their house tomorrow night?”
“Yep. So you don’t have to worry about what you wear. Momma won’t noticeeitherof us—she’ll be too busy kissing up to her future son-in-law-slash-meal-ticket.”
“Poor Larson.”
An unspoken understanding passes between us as our eyes meet in the mirror. Thank God for Kenley.
No one else in the world would believe, much less understand, the family we grew up in. At least we have each other to complain to.
* * *
