Once Upon A Time(3)

I shook my head.

He rolled his eyes, diving back into the heap of clothes he’d created.

“Sure they are,” I said, standing from the bed, ensuring the sheet was secured around the top half of my body. “Please tell that to Mr. Not-So-Charming, Mr. Wrong, Mr. Very-Wrong and Mr. Let’s-Not-Freaking-Go-There.” I paused, stepping behind Quinn and plucking a grey shirt from the closet. “If fairy tales are real, then maybe I’m due my happily ever after because I’m pretty sick of kissing frogs — including this morning’s toad!”

Turning, Quinn flashed me a smirk before throwing himself back onto my bed. Gesturing towards my foot with his eyes, I lifted my leg, dropping it onto his right knee.

“It’s been a while since DEFCON 1, sweetie,” he said, pulling the single shoe that’d been left on my foot since last night. “Care to fill me in?”

He peered up at me through his lashes, wiggling his eyebrows before flinging my shoe across the room.

“Which part?” I sighed. Turning, I dropped my sheet and searched through my dresser drawer for a clean bra. Pulling it on, I continued. “The part where he farted or the part where I saw his tattoo that said ‘your name’?”

Throwing on my shirt, I turned to a clearly amused Quinn.

“Okay, that totally warrants DEFCON 1!” He laughed, pulling out his cell from his pocket. “Oh hey! Kylie’s on her way over. Do you want coffee?”

I raised my brow. “Is that a trick question?”

Rolling his eyes, Quinn fired back a text to Kylie while I headed into my bathroom to brush last night’s alcohol from my teeth. So gross. I decided to wait until Kylie brought the coffee before I had a shower; I needed caffeine and there’s nothing better than the coffee from the coffee house that sat on the corner of my street and today I needed hot black coffee to get rid of the throbbing hangover niggling behind my eyes.

“She’ll be ten minutes,” Quinn hollered from the bedroom. “She said you better be ready to drop the goods on Chad… wait, who the fuck’s Chad?”

Oh. Mr. Not-So-Charming had a name.

Chad? Really?

Jesus.

Wiping my hands, I stepped out of the bathroom to a clearly confused Quinn. His brows pinched together while looking down at his cell, trying to decipher who the hell Kylie was talking about.

“I’m presuming Chad is the guy you chased out of my apartment with a baseball bat.” I laughed, watching as Quinn’s brain finally kicked in after several seconds.

“Ew,” he said, scrunching his nose, clearly unimpressed by the name. “Seriously, you must’ve drank a tank of alcohol last night to bring home… Chad.”

“Will you stop saying his name like that? It makes me feel even dirtier than I already feel!”

“Chad,” Quinn taunted.

Seriously?

“Oh god.” I groaned, walking out of my bedroom and into the living, noticing errant pieces of furniture completely out of place from his sudden departure.

“Oh Chadddddd!” Quinn laughed from my bedroom.

Clearly, someone forgot he’s twenty-four and not twelve.

Ignoring Quinn, I moved the furniture back into place. Chad really put the ‘out’ in ‘get the fuck out.’ I groaned again. Seriously? Chad? Kylie had a lot to answer for. How could she let me go home with a douche canoe whose name’s freaking Chad?

“Morning, hot stuff!”

As if right on cue, Kylie strutted into my apartment, juggling a tray of coffees.

“You’re a fucking comedian, Kylie Jackson,” I said, stepping towards her, grabbing the coffee labeled “Chad’s girl. » Oh har fucking har! “Care to explain what the hell happened to you last night?”

Kylie smirked. Walking into the living room, she placed the coffees on the table before turning to me, her smirk still very much in place.

“Dude, you needed to let loose. Plus, Chad was hot… right?” she asked, confusion lining her arched bow.

“Yeah… then she saw the tat. Oh girl. It was fucking priceless.” Quinn laughed, walking into the living room, kissing Kylie on the cheek before grabbing his coffee.

“Ooooh!” Kylie squealed.

Jesus.

I needed to sit down for this. Taking a seat on my black leather sofa, I sighed as I waited for the dramatic hand waving and bouncing on the spot from Kylie. Quinn must’ve sensed Kylie’s over-enthusiastic, preppy outburst was about to erupt all over my living room as he took a seat next to me.

“He had tattoos! Oh my god. Fill me in!” she shrieked, bouncing around on the spot like a toddler who needed to pee.

“The only thing that’ll be filled in is your mouth with my freaking fist,” I joked, shaking my head. “He had ‘your name’ on his ass.”