His Paper Heart ✓

•3|His Come-hither Name

"GRAY EASTON IS LITERALLY THE MOST SEXIEST NAME I HAVE EVER HEARD," Didi says, sipping her coffee. I force a smile to escape the conversation about Gray Easton's apparently 'sexy' name because let's face it, he is a nut job.

I get in my head a lot. It's a defence mechanism taught by a counsellor once upon a time. When I read a good book, I'm not so sure but I would compare it to a great orgasm. From what Didi has enlightened me on that daunting topic, your mind goes completely blank, you feel like fireworks; bright sparkles getting ready to ignite. You feel infinite. That's what a good book should feel like. It should have the power to transport you to a whole different dimension, your own Shangri-la. Getting lost in said utopia prevents me from using my other senses except for my nose, and ears if the person speaking is loud enough, ergo, there's a minimal chance of encountering strong emotions.

Unless I'm startled.

Gigi taps my shoulder slightly and I gasp, dropping my storybook. Call it what you want but I have read pride and prejudice three times in the last month and I'm not ashamed of it. I pick my book from the black and white tiled floor and sigh.

"Did he ask you out?"

"No, and I would have said no if he did," I answer.

"Why? He's hot, don't deny it."

"He called me racist and sexist."

"I'm sure you provoked him. You know how you get and besides, Grandma Juliet calls you racist because of that weird chicken separation thing."

"It's not weird and am I a bad person for trying to protect the hens from the roasters? These roasters take advantage of them. They force them into mating and I don't think it's fair."

"Oh dear God, Gigi! They're chickens, you hypocritical bitch! You eat fried chicken!"

"God said to eat them. We read it in the Bible at Sunday school."

She takes a large whiff of air through her nose and releases it through her mouth. "Okay, you're right."

"And then he said he would sneak into my room and stab me with a toothpick."

"I have honestly thought of doing worse things to you."

"You're never on my side!" I shriek.

"I'm always on your side but you are weird."

"How is this being on my side?"

"You have amazing hair," she whispers, running her fingers through my hair slowly. "See, I'm on your side."

"We have the same hair!"

"Oh no, I don't have lice in my hair." she shakes her head. "So when are we going to see Mr. Sexy Name?"

I am in the middle of starting another argument with my sister: a topic from yesterday's encounter with Gray when my mother runs down the stairs to get the door. It has just come to my attention that the doorbell has been ringing for three minutes now or maybe more. I tuck away strands of ginger hair behind my ears before I put my chin in my palm, plopping my elbow on the dining table. Didi won't realise this because she's incapable of seeing beyond six foot one and studly looks but Gray is the epitome of a creepy serial killer.

"Genevieve!" my mother screams for me.

"Someone's in trouble," Didi teases.

"Come here this instant!" A second scream comes from the hall and I quickly back off my chair. "Where is she? Genevieve?"

"Coming!" I rush to the hall. I can literally see the fumes escaping out of my mother's ears as she stands by the door, her hands on her hips, glaring at me. "Mom?"