“Listen,” Mark snapped, “we weren’t doing anything dirty, nor was I ‘defiling’ her in the damn kitchen. Layla wanted dry shampoo, and we only had all-purpose flour because she didn’t want to use self-raising. To give her hair back some volume after she brushed it, she flipped her head forward and head-butted the counter.”
Ren looked over his shoulder at me. “So why’s she wearing her shirt backward, and her pants are undone?”
Did I?
A quick check proved, yes, in fact, I was that big of a loser. As I adjusted them and got my shirt the right way round, almost choking myself in the process, Cole cleared his throat and pointed at my feet.
I was an even bigger loser because I had one green shoe on with a three-inch heel and one pink one with a five-inch heel, neither of which I’d generally have worn to work. I hadn’t even picked up on the difference in heel height as I’d walked through my house and out to my car. I’d just thought it was the weight of the cheese on my forehead weighing me down.
Mark whistled and tossed a pair of slip-on Converse that I kept next to the door at Cole, who then passed them to me with a wink. “Don’t want to risk hitting you in the head again.”
I was already over today, so with a tired wave, I got into the car and slowly made my way to work, hoping there’d be no more milkshake or coffee and muffin disasters. I couldn’t take much more today, and I’d only been awake for twenty minutes.