Disclaimer: Not mine. Can't think of any snarky comments about Jessica Alba, so "Not mine" will have to do.
Author's Note: To all of you whiny people out there who complain that my chapters are too short, I would to point out that I have a life. I also have serious writer's block. In closing DEAL WITH IT!!!!!!!!!!
Setting: Max and Original Cindy's Crib. That Evening
"So what happened last with you and your boy last night, boo?" OC drawled as she gave applied blood red polish to her right middle finger.
"Nothing. Had a spat, I came home, I felt guilty, I gave in around three in the morning, went over there, found him still up working on some new article, we both apologized, and I crashed in his guest room." Max answered nonchalantly as she squatted by her motorcycle, cleaning various parts of it with a soft cloth.
"Uh-huh," Original Cindy's voice was sarcastic now. "And the reason you didn't come home 'till past noon was?"
"He fed me breakfast, we played chess, we had another fight, I left, came home." Max was proud of herself for revealing no outward emotion as she replied; especially since on the inside she felt as if her lungs, heart, and stomach had a guillotine blade dropped clean through them. Breathing hurt, moving hurt, living hurt in a way that made one of her seizures seem like a scraped knee.
"What were these fights about?" OC asked with raised eyebrows.
"That," Max replied evenly. "Is none of your business." And with that, she stood up walked off to her bedroom.
Original Cindy started as she heard Max's bedroom door slam. She then swore under her breath when she saw that she'd gotten nail polish on her knuckle from where her hand had jumped.
What in the world is going on with those two? She wondered as she wiped the polish away with the pad of her left thumb. Could their relationship really be as innocent as Max is always insisting? No, she decided as she started to paint her left index finger, even if they aren't getting busy, there is nothing innocent at the expression the two of them always looking at one another. They can make a room feel ten degrees warmer using just their eyes.
Original Cindy sighed and shook her head sadly as she finished painting her index and moved on to her middle finger. Those two needed to either confess and act upon their feelings for one another soon, or otherwise move on to find other romantic interests. Original Cindy wondered what the two of them had argued about, and how serious it was.
Maybe, she mused as she worked on her final finger, when the two of them make up they'll really make up. One could only hope.
Now finished with her nails, she twisted the cap back onto the bottle and wafted her wet nails to hasten their drying, careful not to nick one and mess up her careful work. As she waited, she pondered potential ways to talk to Max about Logan without receiving a concussion or bloody nose. If Richboy has hurt my boo, Original Cindy silently vowed, Original Cindy will put the Smackdown on his ass.
To be Continued...