The Pop Star and the Playboy Quarterback
I stay silent for a moment, piecing together the insanity my brother has laid out for me.
“Are you high?” I finally ask, stopping at a light near Ophelia’s.
“What? No!”
“Well, you sound high!” I snap back. “AJ, seriously. It was just a weird situation, okay? There’s no princess, there’s no evil stepmother, it’s just Ophelia.”
“Hey, if the slipper fits—"
“She wasn’t wearing a slipper when I saw her; she was wearing boots.”
I can practically hear AJ roll his eyes. “Fine, then. If the boot fits, she’s your Cinderella, dumbass.”
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