Match Made In Trouble
I am good with math and science; if there'd be an actual subject on how to be a bad-ass, then, I'd probably fail with a big, fat F.
He narrowed his eyes into thin slits. "Well, lessen the help more on the sarcasm. Got it?" he said sternly.
I nodded. "Gotcha."
"Number two," he said, his middle finger up together with the pointer finger. "Play hard to get. Guys get excited for something they can't have. Once you achieve that, you'll be a forbidden fruit."
Now I have to act lascivious like that blond of a bimbo Shelly what's-her-face? What possessed him-- no, wait, is he crazy for suggesting that I should swish and giggle like an air-head?
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