Page 34 of Broken Headboards
Walking toward Oakmont’s corner in the room, where all of Austin’s furniture has been stashed, he reaches for the white sheets sheltering his pieces from view. As he pulls it back, all the lights in the room go off, and a huge glaring spotlight focus on his nightstand.
What a fucking show off.
Leaning back, I fold both my legs and arms, putting as many layers of limbs as possible between me and that idiot. The only reason I don’t cover my ears is because I don’t want to appear like a drama queen. But, seriously, just listen to what he’s saying!
LCD screens that rise from the bed stand’s upper surface, USB chargers, and so many plug points that it almost seems like he’s trying to pitch something for an MFM novel. Jesus, that damn thing is so supercharged I wouldn’t be surprised if it had some sort of AI system that could pick the groceries up for you.
And, despite the damn thing having so many electronics I wouldn’t call it a piece of furniture, its lines still remain as minimalistic as they are impressive. Crap, I have no chance against this cyborg nightstand bullshit.
“Well, seems like we have a clear winner,” Taylor cries out, trying to raise his voice above the crowd’s noise. People have lost their goddamn minds with Austin’s nightstand, some of the residents even asking Austin if he will sell them one.
Looking around, Taylor eventually shrugs and gives up. No one seems to care about the points anymore—Austin has clearly stolen the show.
“Tess, you get second place,” he tells me, offering to shake my hand. Sighing, I take it in mine.
15 to 10, and Austin’s leading.
Fuck me.
Oh wait.
Austin already did.
