Secrets and Lies 6 (The Ferro Family) Read Online Free Page A
Author: H.M. Ward
myself, wondering if I should pick them all up. It’d take the rest of the night. That little rat tipped every single can, save one.
I turn and gaze at Nate’s trash in the brown pail, neatly waiting at the curb for removal. That’s bad for business. All his neighbors are going to think that Nate’s weird friend with the bus went through their trash.
As if on cue, the fuzzy little pain in the ass comes waddling toward me before curving to make a beeline for the bus. I whisper-rant at him, “You had to eat everyone’s garbage, didn’t you? Jeez, PITA!” I shake my head and put fists on my hips, glaring at him. The raccoon doesn’t respond. He’s such a bitch. “That’s your name now, pain in the ass. I hope you’re happy.”
So I do what any other girl in my situation would do. I head to the curb and glance up and down the block, making sure I’m unobserved before taking Nate’s trashcan and knocking it over. The lid falls off and white GLAD bags fall out. The neighbor’s dumped pails are messier.
Holy hell, I can’t believe I’m doing this. I bend over and grab the plastic, ripping it with my nails and then kicking the bag so the garbage spills out. An empty KFC container and chicken bones goes flying along with tissues and a ridiculous amount of dental floss. Nate has a flossing fetish and seriously needs an intervention, because what the hell? I stare at the ball of blue floss, tangled in the chicken carcass. I don’t have time to ponder my lover’s dental obsession. I need to make his garbage as messy as everyone else’s, so I repeat the slash and trash to two more bags and then hightail it to my bus.
When I climb the stairs, the little beast hisses at me, like I went to a party without him. As I start the engine, I snap at him, “Oh shut up, Pita. It’s not like I could clean it all up. What else was I supposed to do?”
Of course, if Nate knew I ripped up his garbage, he might have second thoughts about banging me again. Don’t dip your wick in crazy is a dude mantra and playing in his garbage is a few ticks past insane. It’s the equivalent of eating my freak flag with ketchup. At the same time, floss much, Nate?
Pita hisses and then scratches the leather seat and settles in as the bus lurches to life. I get the hell out of there, and don’t look back.
CHAPTER 5
T he next day I’m a zombie. I plop down hard at the lunch table across from Emily. She’s sporting a freshly dyed head of Kool-Aid colored blue and grape hair. The spiked dog collar has been replaced with a strap that looks like it came from a bra.
I stare at it. “New choker?”
She lifts a pierced brow and nods. “Upcycled.”
“As in it went higher than your tits?” I say it straight-faced and stuff a taco in my mouth.
Emily nearly chokes on her soda. Her jaw drops and she looks me over. “No, upcycled—as in recycled with a higher, more glam purpose. That was slightly ostentatious for this time of day. What got into you?” Her gaze slips over me, appraisingly, and then the corner of her mouth tips up and I get treated to a nod of respect.
“Nothing. I'm just sick of pussyfooting around all the time. I’m going to be blunt for the rest of my life. You have a bra strap on your neck, dude. Phys Ed sweats make up ninety percent of my wardrobe. We both are freaked out by those stairs at the bar.”
Emily snorts, “With good reason.”
I munch another bite and wipe a piece of lettuce off my lip before saying, mouth still full, “I like the strap choker. It’s like a big ‘F YOU’ to everyone. The hair rocks, too.”
Emily preens and her shoulders go back, neck long and lean. You’d think I paid her the highest compliment she ever received. Apparently, she was going for the ‘fuck off’ outfit and nailed it. “You don’t look so bad yourself. I like the new non-gym attire. It’s like you’re not a PE major or something. Once you get a few paint stains on those jeans, you’ll blend right in with the
I turn and gaze at Nate’s trash in the brown pail, neatly waiting at the curb for removal. That’s bad for business. All his neighbors are going to think that Nate’s weird friend with the bus went through their trash.
As if on cue, the fuzzy little pain in the ass comes waddling toward me before curving to make a beeline for the bus. I whisper-rant at him, “You had to eat everyone’s garbage, didn’t you? Jeez, PITA!” I shake my head and put fists on my hips, glaring at him. The raccoon doesn’t respond. He’s such a bitch. “That’s your name now, pain in the ass. I hope you’re happy.”
So I do what any other girl in my situation would do. I head to the curb and glance up and down the block, making sure I’m unobserved before taking Nate’s trashcan and knocking it over. The lid falls off and white GLAD bags fall out. The neighbor’s dumped pails are messier.
Holy hell, I can’t believe I’m doing this. I bend over and grab the plastic, ripping it with my nails and then kicking the bag so the garbage spills out. An empty KFC container and chicken bones goes flying along with tissues and a ridiculous amount of dental floss. Nate has a flossing fetish and seriously needs an intervention, because what the hell? I stare at the ball of blue floss, tangled in the chicken carcass. I don’t have time to ponder my lover’s dental obsession. I need to make his garbage as messy as everyone else’s, so I repeat the slash and trash to two more bags and then hightail it to my bus.
When I climb the stairs, the little beast hisses at me, like I went to a party without him. As I start the engine, I snap at him, “Oh shut up, Pita. It’s not like I could clean it all up. What else was I supposed to do?”
Of course, if Nate knew I ripped up his garbage, he might have second thoughts about banging me again. Don’t dip your wick in crazy is a dude mantra and playing in his garbage is a few ticks past insane. It’s the equivalent of eating my freak flag with ketchup. At the same time, floss much, Nate?
Pita hisses and then scratches the leather seat and settles in as the bus lurches to life. I get the hell out of there, and don’t look back.
CHAPTER 5
T he next day I’m a zombie. I plop down hard at the lunch table across from Emily. She’s sporting a freshly dyed head of Kool-Aid colored blue and grape hair. The spiked dog collar has been replaced with a strap that looks like it came from a bra.
I stare at it. “New choker?”
She lifts a pierced brow and nods. “Upcycled.”
“As in it went higher than your tits?” I say it straight-faced and stuff a taco in my mouth.
Emily nearly chokes on her soda. Her jaw drops and she looks me over. “No, upcycled—as in recycled with a higher, more glam purpose. That was slightly ostentatious for this time of day. What got into you?” Her gaze slips over me, appraisingly, and then the corner of her mouth tips up and I get treated to a nod of respect.
“Nothing. I'm just sick of pussyfooting around all the time. I’m going to be blunt for the rest of my life. You have a bra strap on your neck, dude. Phys Ed sweats make up ninety percent of my wardrobe. We both are freaked out by those stairs at the bar.”
Emily snorts, “With good reason.”
I munch another bite and wipe a piece of lettuce off my lip before saying, mouth still full, “I like the strap choker. It’s like a big ‘F YOU’ to everyone. The hair rocks, too.”
Emily preens and her shoulders go back, neck long and lean. You’d think I paid her the highest compliment she ever received. Apparently, she was going for the ‘fuck off’ outfit and nailed it. “You don’t look so bad yourself. I like the new non-gym attire. It’s like you’re not a PE major or something. Once you get a few paint stains on those jeans, you’ll blend right in with the