"I told them to hide the good china and to sleep with one eye open."
"Good call." I grinned at her, dusting off my hands. The boxes in my room were covered in construction dust from my bathroom renovation.
"I figured we'd watch scary movies all night on Netflix while we munch on popcorn."
"That sounds fun, but I should warn you I'm a baby when it comes to blood and guts. I'll probably have my hands over my eyes the whole time."
"Really? I love slasher flicks. This is going to be fun," she said, rubbing her hands together in a sinister fashion.
"You're evil," I groaned. "Let me clean up and then we can head to your house."
Chapter 7
Farrah sat on my bed entertaining Player while I quickly showered and then gathered my stuff. Once I finished we headed into my house to tell Butch and Buttercup my plans for the evening. They were embarrassingly thrilled to meet Farrah. It wasn't like I didn't have friends back in Huntsville. Of course, they rarely saw them since I tried to keep my two lives separated.
After reminding Buttercup to check on Player and feed him, Farrah and I left for her house. We passed Evan's place on the way. It was too bad he turned out to be such a douchecanoe, especially after getting a little insight from Farrah. Not that I wasn't still pissed about the party.
Farrah kept up a steady stream of conversation as we walked past several houses that rivaled Evan's. Finally she stopped in front of a house that was easily the largest around. Farrah unlocked a white wooden gate and I followed her along a concrete path that led to the back of the house. I tried to hide my intimidation over the pool with multiple waterfalls and perfectly sculpted yard with tropical-looking plants everywhere.
"I'm surprised everyone doesn't hang here," I said to cover my shock. "Your pool is easily twice the size of Evan's," I added so she'd get my point.
"My parents can't stand my friends long enough," she said, pulling open a large set of French doors. "They're both writers and work from home. Dad says he'd have to drown us."
"That's funny," I laughed
as we stepped into a living room that could have held my entire house. The decor was vibrant and warm and would have made Buttercup buzz with excitement. The walls were painted in a patchwork of different colors that shouldn't have worked, but somehow with the right accents all seemed to complement each other. I was entranced by the multiple framed pictures scattered around the room that all showed Farrah at various ages in goofy poses.
"My parents don't believe in formal pictures," she said dryly when she saw me checking out a picture where she looked to be about two years old. She was smiling broadly at the camera with a face smeared in spaghetti.
"I like them," I said, feeling a kinship with her.
"Come on. I'll introduce you to them," she said, leading me down a long hallway that was lined with enlarged canvases that matched the smaller pictures of her in the living room.
"Sorry. My parents have a picture fetish," she said apologetically, seeing the way I was studying them.
"I think they're cool," I said, flashing a genuine smile.
"You do? Paris and Leslie think they're ridiculous," she added, looking at me like she was waiting for me to change my opinion.
I rolled my eyes. "Well, I think they're cool," I repeated.
"Me too," she answered impishly, looking relieved that I wasn't making fun of her.
We reached the end of the hall where she threw open a large set of double doors without knocking. I'm not sure what I had been expecting when Farrah said her parents were writers who worked from home. Maybe a dark, dusty old room with endless bookshelves and large wooden desks, but their office was nothing like that. One entire side of the room was nothing but windows that provided a breathtaking view of the ocean below. It looked like the beach was a part of the house. There were bookshelves, but they only lined one wall. The two other walls were covered in framed poster-sized book covers. Each cover depicted a different couple in an intimate embrace. Against one of the walls below the posters was a custom-made sofa that was easily ten feet long. A frumpy-looking short balding gentleman was sitting there typing frantically on a laptop while a slightly less plump woman was perched on a luxurious chaise lounge in the center of the room with her own laptop on her bent knees. Both looked completely lost in whatever they were doing. I was envious. Writing was my passion. It was my dream to one day make a living at it, but that was my secret. Not even Butch and Buttercup knew.
"Mom and Dad, this is my new friend, Rain," Farrah announced, dragging me into the room. I suddenly felt nervous. I'd never read any of their books, but these were my kind of people. Just stepping in the room I could practically feel the creative juices flowing.
Their heads snapped up like they'd just been released from a mind trance. Each of them took a moment to eye me before setting their computers to the side and standing up so they could greet me properly.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Rain," her mom said, holding out a hand with nails that were cut in a blunt style, but painted black.
"Thank you," I stuttered, wondering why I felt starstruck. She was obviously a popular author, but it wasn't like I was a fan or anything. Regardless, I felt strangely tongue-tied.
"Rain," Farrah's dad greeted me, engulfing my hand with his as he shook it heartily. My tension dissipated from his welcoming enthusiasm. With one handshake, I knew I liked them.
"I'm sorry we interrupted your writing," I told him as a way of greeting them.
"No problem. Samantha would have been clamoring that it was time for a chocolate break in a few minutes anyway," he said, crossing to the corner of the room where an elaborate armoire was sitting. Opening the doors, he revealed several glass jars filled with different kinds of wrapped chocolates.