Lacy is a brat… Good thing Scott has a firm hand and loves a good challenge.
People say I’m a brat like it’s a bad thing. According to Urban Dictionary, which is the only dictionary that really matters, a brat is someone who always gets what they want. How is that bad?
True, I didn’t want to get dumped by my BFF.
I also didn’t want to be attacked in an alley by some smelly bum.
Or have my life torn to pieces by the FBI.
Or any of the other horrible things that have happened to me lately.
I mean, I guess the guy that came to my rescue is kinda sexy. In a moody, starving artist kind of way. And moving in with him when I had no place else to go has worked out well in the bedroom… orgasmically well. If only Scott wouldn’t shut down every time I try to get to know him. Not that I care about the secrets he’s keeping or anything.
It’s not like I need someone to love me. Not at all. I just need my life, and my clothes, back. I certainly don’t want to keep this new life I’ve made in Brooklyn of all places. Obviously.