“I don’t know what my sister sees in you,” she laughs at me, mocking and cruel, “But you’ve always been — and always will be — a gigantic fucking loser, Squeegee.” She’s called me since middle school.
“That doesn’t matter, Leann,” I say her name deliberately, enunciating both syllables hard, “Doesn’t change the fact that Tracy and I are getting married. And she asked you and me to get over the past. Are you even going to try?” It’s been over a decade since middle school.
She narrows her gaze. “Fuck you.” Then she turns and opens the fridge, bending over to reach inside giving me a face-full of her big, round, yoga pants-clad ass. The fabric’s laced with something glittery, and her pants sparkle as they stretch around her butt, wrinkling over the mound of pussy between her legs.
I grit my teeth and stare, ashamed of finding this bitch attractive. Why does she have to be so hot? “Is that all you got? A simple ‘fuck you’ and you’re done talking to me?”
She sets a jug of lemonade down on the counter. “As soon as I figure out how you conned my sister into this, you can kiss your ass goodbye.”