Hired Hottie - Kelsie Rae Page 0,5

don’t really feel like explaining myself. Mainly because I don’t know what the hell my problem is, either. So he called me a guy. Why do I care what he thinks?

Oh, wait. It’s because he knows how touchy I am about it. Ya know, since I was practically raised with an unkempt pixie cut, was obsessed with sports, and had a best friend who loved Ninja Turtles and Pokemon, which means––you guessed it––I did too. Combine all of that with the fact I’m named Charlie, hate pink, and still haven’t gotten my boobs in, and you have a very tomboy girl with little self-esteem. But the real problem is the fact that all those stupid girly emotions have been resistant to the whole tomboy persona, which means I still feel every single one of them. And it sucks. A lot. I don’t have anyone to talk to. To gossip with. To unload all my pent-up feelings about my best friend, who sees me as his freaking wingman. My lips purse until I’m sure I look like I just sucked on a lemon.

My phone buzzes in my hand. Annoyed at the whole situation, I glare at my screen, reading Levi’s response.

Levi: Finally. You had me worried. What’s got you so busy??

Me: Stuff. Did you make it back to school, okay?

I roll my eyes as I hit send, recognizing how little I care if he even bothers to reply or not. I don’t know why. Probably because I do care. I just don’t want to care anymore.

Levi: Yeah. I was thinking…I know you said you didn’t want to go to college, but what if you came here? I could show you around campus. Maybe set you up with a few of my buddies?

The burn of acid floods up my throat as I read the message a dozen times before making myself respond.

Me: Thanks for the offer, but I’m good. Gotta go. Talk to you later.

Then I toss my phone aside and grab my Nikes.

I need to go for a run.

Eyeing my baseball bat propped against the closet door, I decide to bring that too.

I don’t need a run. I need to hit something.

Batting cages it is.

And for once, I don’t even bother to bring my phone because I know I’ll only be tempted to tell Levi to go screw himself. But that isn’t something an innocent little friend would say. Especially when they’re looked at like a little sister. Or even worse. A little brother-slash-wingman.

Bastard.

A week goes by. A whole freaking week. And I don’t get a single text from him. The truth is sobering, though it makes my chest hurt. My feet pound against the heated pavement beneath my feet as I analyze my overreaction for the thousandth time.

As soon as I round the corner, my pace slows, and I try to catch my breath. With the palm of my hands resting on the top of my head, I breathe deep.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

I try to push all thoughts of my best friend out with every ounce of used oxygen, but it does nothing to stop him from consuming my thoughts. I shouldn’t be as frustrated as I am. I know that. But it doesn’t stop me from being pissed.

House in sight, I take my time getting there then dig into the pockets of my running shorts in search of my dad’s house key. I need to find a place of my own soon. But first, I need a job. Maybe I really will go into stripping. Maybe it’ll finally snap Levi’s warped perception of me. Maybe he’ll finally see me as a woman instead of a kid sister.

And maybe pigs will fly.

My childhood home is tiny. Hell, there are only two bedrooms the size of walk-in closets along with a small family room, a single bathroom that I share with my dad, and a tiny kitchen with dated wallpaper. Still, the front lawn is mowed, and the stairs leading to the porch are swept, making the tiny house one of the most inviting ones on the street. And I kind of love it.

I take the steps two at a time before reaching the front door. As I fumble with the lock, my thoughts a chaotic mess, a voice behind me makes me jump.

“Hey.”

“Shit!” I turn around while clutching my chest. “Levi! You scared the crap out of me!”

“You’re pissed at me,” he states in a matter-of-fact voice. It isn’t a question. He knows me too well.

Shifting my weight from one foot to another,