“You know,” Britney drawled, stretching her arms back to touch the headboard. “I’ve never had sex with an Asian guy.”
“Me neither,” Nino answered.
Well, not really, he thought.
Britney giggled and Nino abandoned his Gamecube controller to flop back on the bed with her, staring up at the tacky gold vines painted across the ceiling. He felt the mattress shift under him. Britney’s manicured nails trailed lightly down his arm. If he shivered, it was a manly shiver. Britney leaned in and brushed their lips together.
Nino was the first to smirk, but Britney quickly cracked as well, rolling off of Nino and across the bed in peals of laughter.
“I’m sorry,” they both said.
Britney tried to look Nino in the eye but niether could stop giggling.
“Are you gay?” she asked, still beaming as she tilted her head.
Nino frowned, shaking his head.
“No,” he answered.
Not really, he thought.
“Good,” Britney sighed. “Cause sometimes the gay ones try to, like, steal a lock of my hair.”
“Why you came after my car?” Nino asked, suddenly curious.
“Honestly, you were the smallest.”
“Sorry?”
“Like, I figured, if I had to, you know, fight you off? I could.”
“I have to fight you off!” Nino protested, laughing at Britney laughing at herself.
“I’m terrible, I know it,” Britney apologized, trying to catch her breath.
“You’re okay,” Nino assured her.
Britney smiled at him again, but it was a different, sad smile. It made Nino reach for his cards again, amused by the immediate clapping and excitement.
“Wait, wait, let me get Brett,” she said suddenly, scrambling out of bed and grabbing her cell phone.
It seemed that Britney’s assistants really were going to wait until morning to chew her out for running off on them, so Nino spent the rest of the night entertaining “the staff,” first with magic tricks, then, after a cranky translator was pulled out of sleep, with stories about Clint Eastwood (“I think I rented it,” Britney told him. “But I always fall asleep when I watch movies at home.”).
Nino woke up late the next morning to find that Britney had left him all the parts of her gift baskets that she didn’t want. He was a little annoyed that the whole group had just left him asleep on the couch, but he immediately perked up when he found two mails from Jun on his cell phone. He hit redial as he sifted through the second-hand swag.
“Hello?”
“Britney Spears thinks you look gay.”
“What?”
“She said Sho is the hot one and you’re the gay one.”
“She, you, how,” Jun stammered. “WHAT?”
Nino hung up and smiled to himself, holding up a sheet of hotel notepaper with a full list of contact details, including e-mail, a hastily scribbled stick-figure with a top hat and a rabbit decorating the left corner.
Nino geniunely likes Britney Spears, but he loves upsetting Jun.
Off The Record 2/2
“Me neither,” Nino answered.
Well, not really, he thought.
Britney giggled and Nino abandoned his Gamecube controller to flop back on the bed with her, staring up at the tacky gold vines painted across the ceiling. He felt the mattress shift under him. Britney’s manicured nails trailed lightly down his arm. If he shivered, it was a manly shiver. Britney leaned in and brushed their lips together.
Nino was the first to smirk, but Britney quickly cracked as well, rolling off of Nino and across the bed in peals of laughter.
“I’m sorry,” they both said.
Britney tried to look Nino in the eye but niether could stop giggling.
“Are you gay?” she asked, still beaming as she tilted her head.
Nino frowned, shaking his head.
“No,” he answered.
Not really, he thought.
“Good,” Britney sighed. “Cause sometimes the gay ones try to, like, steal a lock of my hair.”
“Why you came after my car?” Nino asked, suddenly curious.
“Honestly, you were the smallest.”
“Sorry?”
“Like, I figured, if I had to, you know, fight you off? I could.”
“I have to fight you off!” Nino protested, laughing at Britney laughing at herself.
“I’m terrible, I know it,” Britney apologized, trying to catch her breath.
“You’re okay,” Nino assured her.
Britney smiled at him again, but it was a different, sad smile. It made Nino reach for his cards again, amused by the immediate clapping and excitement.
“Wait, wait, let me get Brett,” she said suddenly, scrambling out of bed and grabbing her cell phone.
It seemed that Britney’s assistants really were going to wait until morning to chew her out for running off on them, so Nino spent the rest of the night entertaining “the staff,” first with magic tricks, then, after a cranky translator was pulled out of sleep, with stories about Clint Eastwood (“I think I rented it,” Britney told him. “But I always fall asleep when I watch movies at home.”).
Nino woke up late the next morning to find that Britney had left him all the parts of her gift baskets that she didn’t want. He was a little annoyed that the whole group had just left him asleep on the couch, but he immediately perked up when he found two mails from Jun on his cell phone. He hit redial as he sifted through the second-hand swag.
“Hello?”
“Britney Spears thinks you look gay.”
“What?”
“She said Sho is the hot one and you’re the gay one.”
“She, you, how,” Jun stammered. “WHAT?”
Nino hung up and smiled to himself, holding up a sheet of hotel notepaper with a full list of contact details, including e-mail, a hastily scribbled stick-figure with a top hat and a rabbit decorating the left corner.
Nino geniunely likes Britney Spears, but he loves upsetting Jun.