| & |
|
|
Kevin Miller should have been in Virginia Tech, but the dolts decided he didn't fit their standards. He's a wiz at computers and electronics. And actually a fairly cool guy. So what if he's black and doesn't act the part? Who the fuck cares? He came by on Saturday to deliver a disk copy of our group project. I was busy thinking about Brenda when he shook me. I snapped back into the present, blushing like mad. "Ok, Queen. Spill it. You've looked like a zombie since..." His eyes narrowed slightly, but the look was comical. "Well?" I said. "And you're trying to hit on her. Ok. Try this one. You're solo for two weeks, right? You think you hear something. Maybe you just need to feel like someone's in the house with you. Someone you trust. You pop over and ask to stay with her. She'll probably put you in a spare room, which nixes that. You can't play but so innocent; she'll see that."
"Hold up, James Bond! How about I just go over there and get her drunk? I know she drinks." "Too complicated. She might have a guilt trip or something. You could just knock on her door and ask her to fuck you." He didn't smile when he said that. He couldn't...