Sloppy Seconds Novels & Stories

“Six minutes and thirty-nine seconds,” Sasha sighed after they stepped out of the elevator. “The mausoleum is too big, and Gloomie’s mini-game is too difficult!” Oritha laughed. Unlike Sasha, she cleared the Simon Say game faster, even after messing up the sequence once. That wasn’t her fault. Liu Feng had no idea if “Mike” was a microphone of a man’s name in the context and hesitated too long, resulting in their failure. She did her part perfectly.

Time was running slow when Annie almost got ready and was waiting for it to strike 6 soon so that they could leave for the restaurant. She stood there seeing Sandy casually ruffled his hair and gets ready in seconds. He is handsome. But getting ready in just 2 minutes. Isn't he overconfident? Annie rolled her eyes for his overconfident look.

She shook her head, "Start again, or you're out. You can't rephrase her words and you have forty seconds. Oh well damn.

Her voice grew quiet. "Sloane, whatever it is that you're thinking, stop." He growled. "Why?...." She whined, "I bet If I reach down, you will be hard as steel." Breanna heard a sudden thud. "No, stop!, shit!." "Oh…..see?," Sloane let out a small gasp. "You're on sexual frustration level six." 'There are levels?.' "Get up Sloane." He let out another grunt. But Sloane giggled. 'Why is she on the floor?.'

She is exhausted and I look at them appreciating my SECOND CHANCE in life. THE END

I say. “Oh is that it..” He chuckles. “Well let me tell ya..” He stops for a while.. “Whoops sorry..” I faintly hear someone yell ‘watch where your going!’ I chuckle at his clumsiness. “As I was saying..” He pauses. “What was I saying?” He asks. “You were about to tell me something.. I don’t know..” I was grinning. “Well I forgot.. Now I’m sad.” “I don’t think you’ll remember any of it tomorrow anyway..”

Once, she’d been careless enough to spit its uncanny similarity to mortal's tug of war, which the Noble’s took as a serious offense. “Look, you arrogant former Skipper! Stick to what you know. For instance, collapsing to your own strength!” said Sloane, emphasizing the word former, assuming it would hurt her, but Z didn’t even flinch. They’ve just glared at each other until Ms. Higgins decided it best to end the class and to have everyone rest for a try-out the other day.

Saturday. At the salon for our hair appointment... Eight days before midterm. Sloane and I were seated side by side at Soleil Luxe, a high-end salon nestled along the Wilshire strip, draped in matching black capes and sipping on cucumber-infused water like it was champagne. The place smelled like coconut oil and honey. “I swear,” Sloane muttered, scrolling through her phone, “if I see one more group project pop up in my email before midterms, I’m going to fake an emotional breakdown. I’ll cry. Ugly cry.”

No way to clean this up in time. "Fuck, fuck, FUCK."