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Lauren asher books dirty air series1/23/2024 ![]() “Blink twice if they’re holding you against your will.” He smirks at me. I hold my breath as my eyes meet two icy blue ones, the color of melting glaciers in the Arctic. Tense muscles pull against the black fabric. My eyes trail his jean-clad legs before they land on golden arms crossed over a firm torso. Someone leans against the table where I spread out my art supplies. ![]() Said party entertainment sends me sly grins across the lawn, weirdly making phallic motions with his balloon animals while mouthing for me to call him. Kids move on to the bounce houses, no longer amused with the clown or me. I scroll through my phone to pass the time. I’ve never been wired that way, ever since my dad bought me a Star Wars backpack instead of a princess one because no daughter of his believes in fairy tales. ![]() I choose different themes for each person because I’m not a basic bitch. He does so much, playing both a mother and father, no matter how awkward or uncomfortable it makes him.Īt least I can create mini masterpieces on everyone’s faces today. So now, instead of pursuing a degree in anything art related, I’m forced to attend a college tailored toward business degrees.īut I want to make my dad happy because he never lets me down. I’d love to say an artist was born that day, but my dad didn’t support my creativity as anything more than a hobby. My dad wasn’t amused when he sat on wet paint and rocked an imprint of a sunflower on his ass. See, I’ve loved art ever since I picked up a paintbrush at two years old and decided to paint all over the canvas stools in our kitchen while under the influence of too many Bob Ross episodes. Face painting can be a cool gig, letting me show off artistic talents I tamper down into nothing nowadays. I ditch the sour attitude once I arrive at the party. Screw heels and being a royal pain in the ass who needs to be protected by a pretty prince. The skirt rests above my mid-thigh, revealing tan legs and white Converse because this princess wears comfortable shoes. Velvet material barely contains my breasts, suggesting I want to offer way more than candy and face painting to unsuspecting partygoers. Joke’s on him this time because he didn’t realize he grabbed me a kid’s size. I run my hands down my ridiculous Rapunzel costume my dad bought. I’m kind of like a lemon Starburst-sweet but packs a punch. Don’t let looks deceive you, I may be the same height as the eight-year-olds running around, but my brains, wit, and sass make up for my small stature. Instead of hanging out in Bandini’s pit garage, my dad volunteered me to dress like a princess for a kid’s birthday party while I paint kids’ faces. Guess who won that battle? Not me, in case you were wondering, but thanks for the moral support. My dad kept his face neutral with not a single gray hair out of place, unblinking and unwavering as I protested his plan. This morning, I trudged my feet through our hotel room, arms crossed over my chest, and bottom lip fully displayed in a pout. A rare occasion, seeing how he has kept me away from the race scene ever since I grew boobs and learned what clothes flatter my body shape. My dad let me join him for one Grand Prix this summer before starting my university classes. In his house, I adhere to his three Rs: respect, rules, and responsibilities. Ever since we moved from California to Italy when I was five years old, I get the same treatment as the Bandini drivers he manages. James Mitchell smells trouble a mile away with his exposure to Formula 1’s bad-boy racers teaching him a thing or two about handling a daughter. ![]() Chance the Rapperĭo you kno w what happens when people turn eighteen? They have nights filled with freedom, exploration, and boxed wine.įor me, eighteen doesn’t look the same-at least not yet. “I Just Wanna Shine” - Fitz and The Tantrums Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.Ĭover Model: Josh Elton Photography: Michelle Lancaster Designer: Books and Moods No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. ![]()
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