{ c u r e } what's deep inside . hayden

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[style= width: 280px; padding: 10px; font-size: 9px; text-align: justify;]Los Angeles has always been Neal's dream, not Tiffany's. She enjoyed the warm climate and excellent restaurant service, but the city itself wasn't her scene. Luckily, her flight back to New York was in two day's time. Her cozy apartment was waiting for her to return home alongside dozens of papers she needed to sort at the theater. Every so often Tiffany grew bored with her monotonous life in New York until she was forced into new environments. Only then did she take back her criticisms of traffic, concrete buildings, and rude city goers who neglected basic mannerisms. Only then did she want nothing more than a nice cup of chai tea and the remote control to her dainty nineteen inch television. By default, Tiffany was a homebody, and she doubted her sluggish lifestyle would undergo serious renovations anytime soon. Tiffany forfeited the fast track. A little more than a decade ago, Tiffany would have whined if someone told her she couldn't leave her house. "Before" and "After" Tiffany were two different people with the same complexion. While one lived life to its fullest, the other preserved life in its simplest form. While one partied hard at least twice a week, the other hadn't taken a single sip of alcohol since the night everything changed.

Today, the country club in Los Angeles had some grand event going on. Tiffany didn't know when she decided to hop in a cab and travel halfway across town that her "peaceful" day by the pool was doomed to be interrupted by loud music and erratic splashes. She had half the mind to turn on her heel and leave right away, but she'd spent a decent chunk of change traveling to the pool in the first place. There was no way she'd leave without getting her money's worth. Alas, she claimed a nice seat next to an overhanging palm tree. Its broad leaves sheltered her from the sunshine beating down on that Friday afternoon. New York happened to be a poor place to tan, so she wanted to take advantage of the California sun without coming home looking like a tomato. Time in the sun and time out of the sun ran inconsistently. In and out, in and out, Tiffany actually found peace in her routine. After about the third rotation, she was dying of thirst. Various waiters had been popping in and out of her version all afternoon, but for whatever reason, she couldn't spot one anymore.

To stand up or not to stand up? That was the question. Tiffany managed to settle into the lounging chair comfortably for a couple minutes before her throat became a priority once again. She threw her legs over the side of the lounge and looked around. The waiters were still missing in action, so Tiffany ventured inside to order a Strawberry Banana smoothie. "We're understaffed at the moment. I can send someone out to bring you your shake when it's done if you want," the waitress said. Tiffany glanced at her vacant seat across the pool. The sun's movement in the sky had stolen the balance between sun and shade. "That would be great! Thank you," Tiffany replied, smiling. The people in Los Angeles were definitely much nicer than those in New York; however, her opinion remained stagnant. New York beat out California anyday. Once again, the pros and cons floated through Tiffany's mind as she pushed out into the hot, airy outside world. Once she found her lounge once again, she placed her sunglasses on her face and waited for her Strawberry Smoothie to come.

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hayden scott, OUTFIT, wooo hiffany! <3 ♔

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[Deleted]

today, in the blink of an eye,

i'm holding onto something
and i do not know why

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: B8B8B8; border: #550505 solid 4px; width: 400px; padding: 15 5 15 5px;] "Dude, check out the jugs on that one," Kellan told Hayden. The twenty-seven-year old burst into laughter as he straightened the five menus in his hand. The place was pretty busy, but the guys were trying to deal by making the whole day interesting. In the beating sun, very few of the waiters actually wanted to be pool servers. Hayden's shift was coming up, and he was obviously dreading it. If he were able to go out there in some red swim trunks and no shirt, maybe he would oblige, but he didn't have the opportunity. Instead, he and Kellan had resorted to making quipped comments about the babes that came in and out of the place. Working at the country club had its perks. Hayden elbowed Kellan for his piggish comment as soon as he started making motions with his hands that hovered over his chest. "You're a misogynistic asshole." Hayden couldn't help but chuckle anyway; he was a guy, and that was how guys played. Living in LA was a joy for Hayden. It was vastly different from both Virginia and Johns Hopkins, however, and he could only imagine how the weather would contrast with that of Maryland. The winters would be far milder. He could only imagine how nice it would be to go to the pool in the fall. He knew that some days would be hot enough, though he didn't expect January to hold beachy weather. He looked out at the pool with longing in his heart, thinking about how these months would slip away in a breath. He wanted to be a normal guy, as cliché as it sounded. Instead, he was an over-educated, lost actor in LA. If that wasn't a stereotype for a gorgeous white guy, what was? He knew that it was a trite role. He felt like he was in his own little movie, and all of the waiters shared that sentiment. Hayden the Hero, they called him with mocking tones. Hayden was friends with them and knew how to take a joke, yet a part of him was screaming for someone to take him seriously. Unable to establish any authority around the place as a lackey, he was given the outdoors duty. "Can you get that girl a strawberry smoothie?" Ryan asked Hayden as he pointed at the seat where a girl in a pink bikini sat. Kellan chortled before heading to his next table. "Got it," Hayden nodded. He made his way to the back where he was given the duty to make the smoothie. After realizing he was actually hopeless -- which took about three minutes -- Lana, a pretty brunette waitress helped him out. "Barista isn't in the job description. I know." She winked at him before walking the other way. He stared at the cold drink in his hand for a moment, running a hand against the cool glass covered with condensation. He and Lana had hooked up at a bowling night after work once, and he didn't want her to think that he owed her anything else. He smiled back at her when she turned around to give him one more look, though, and made his way to the pool. The sun beat down on the man as he approached the blond. He adjusted his nametag a bit, wondering why he had to wear a white button-up and nice black pants if it was so damn hot outside. "Here you are, ma'am," he grinned as he set the cool treat on the table beside her chair. "Let me know if you need anything else." He paused for a moment to look at her face. words; 610 tag; char as tiffany prescott note; i love 'em template made by missickle

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[style=color: 969696; font-size: 35px; line-height: 10%; font-family: times new roman; text-shadow: -1px 0 white, 0 1px white, 1px 0 white, 0 -1px white, 1px 0 white, 0 -1px white, 1px 0 white, 0 -1px white]here comes the storm

[style= width: 280px; padding: 10px; font-size: 9px; text-align: justify;]Being waited on and lounging by a crystal blue swimming pool wasn't the life Tiffany was accustomed to. In fact, she wasn't sure she was comfortable laying out half-naked with a bunch of strangers. Maybe at one point in time Tiffany would have relished in the attention but not anymore. The pink bikini she wore invited barbaric men to finish undressing her with their minds. The pink bikini gave no protection against the light breeze drifting through the air. Tiff shivered, subconsciously clutching the towel under her. Her eyes were closed and the sunglasses hid her face, but she couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching her. The hair on Tiffany's neck began to prickle. All at once, her senses tuned out everything but someone who appeared to be approaching. That's when her eyes  flew open behind her glasses. That's when she saw him. Hayden Scott, looking as gorgeous as ever. Hayden Scott. Again.  

Tiffany's breath left her alone for a short moment. Speaking was a foreign concept to her. "Here you go, ma'am," Hayden said. Ma'am? Wait. Why was Hayden bringing her the smoothie she ordered from the country club? Why was he decked out in a dress shirt, slacks, and a name tag? Realization hit her at seventy miles per hour. The impact was enough to catch her off guard. "Er, thanks," Tiffany struggled to say. She readjusted herself to get a better look at Hayden. This couldn't be Hayden, the college graduate and upcoming actor she knew. No, he was supposed to be successful, flashing his winter white smile into the tabloids. What cruel reality employed Hayden as a petty pool boy? Tiffany shook her head, gathering the courage to call him out again. But first, she lowered her glasses to ensure Hayden really was there. Once, probably six or seven years ago, Tiffany had imagined Neal at a family event in Chantilly. People were sympathetic because they knew Tiffany's pain, but Mrs. Prescott had been extremely worried about her daughter's well-being. Back then, Neal had only been gone for three years. Who was to say Tiffany wouldn't illusion Hayden Scott after their awkward run-in a week ago? Anything was possible if the mind had any say in it. 

"Hayden," she blurted. "What are you doing?" Her tone was sharp and almost reminiscent of tones from Tiffany's past. Only this time Neal and Hayden weren't arm locked on the living room floor. "Do you..." she narrowed her eyes. "You work here?" Her mouth had run dry. Either the economy was taking its toll on Hayden and there was no other job openings or all the bosses in Los Angeles were out of their Vulcan minds. At this point, the smoothie was the last item on her mind. Ten years ago, she'd probably worship a smoothie brought to her by Hayden Scott. Now, she was merely disappointed. Neal didn't want them to play waiter boy. No, he had strict aspirations for all of them, so why was Hayden slacking? Tiffany crossed her arms over her chest. She was holding her breath, praying that Hayden might prove her wrong. Was Neal's best mate really settling for minimum wage and serving ungrateful snobs?

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hayden scott, 550 words, OUTFIT, <3 silly logic.♔

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[Deleted]

today, in the blink of an eye,

i'm holding onto something
and i do not know why

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: B8B8B8; border: #550505 solid 4px; width: 400px; padding: 15 5 15 5px;] It took Superman a good few moments before letting it sink in that the blond bombshell was actually his childhood friend, Tiffany Prescott. The moment was hard-hitting, glaring in the afternoon sun. Wow, had she grown up. He averted his gaze from her chest before staring at the pavement as she addressed him. Being a lackey meant being treated as a subordinate. Quite frankly, he didn’t like that, especially because she was younger than him. If anything, she had been like a baby sister to him during their Chantilly childhood. Now, she was obviously judging. He could hear it in the awkward tone in her voice and the subtle shifts of her body. He could see the tense muscles relaxing in some form of disappointment. Yes, a medical school graduate could read these signs, and none of them were particularly positive. Now that she could see the name tag, he had to figure out a way to get around this. His first thought was to tell her that she was completely mistaken and that it wasn’t Hayden at all. Maybe they had seen each other briefly at a local restaurant, but that could be ignored if he just reminded himself that she hadn’t been able to see him in full since about a decade ago. The two had been out of serious contact. Even though he had attempted, they all fell through – or he just talked himself out of it. It was too difficult to throw himself back into the dark past the two of them had. He knew that any encounter would lead to a conversation about Neal. For some reason, the thought of discussing how they were murderers wasn’t on the list of things Hayden wanted to do in his life. In fact,dodging Tiffany like a bullet sounded like an amazing idea. Maybe he could just cough and walk away. Maybe she would stop talking and let it happen, let him escape from whatever issues she would bring his way. Just as he turned to go and attempt a stealthy exit, she spoke up again. He sighed and turned back to her. "Hayden," she seemed to whisper. Or did she mutter? ”I’m…” He was what? Working at an upscale place as the water boy? He knew Neal would be laughing at the sight of the scene. She had every right to judge him… or did she? Sure, she went to Princeton, but it made her no better than him. He had graduated from Johns Hopkins, not a shitty community college. ”I… No, just… hanging out,” he attempted. He was trying to lie his way out of this one. He held his right arm up, rubbing the back of his neck and partially covering the nametag. ”I mean, it’s kind… I’m…” Words. Words weren’t coming out of his mouth, and he felt like they were physically stuck to his lips. This was not good. He was choking. He was supposed to be a good actor, but how was he supposed to hide from the one person who probably knew him best? No, the girl in the pink bikini couldn’t just let him walk away. Maybe it was out of concern or maybe she wanted to relish in his pitiful existence. He didn’t remember her as a cold creature, however, and could only stumble, imagining her laughing with him. For some reason, that moment didn’t seem to come. They weren’t nostalgic and friendly. He felt like he was doing something terribly wrong. Clearly, she had no idea what he was actually doing with his life. ”How are you?” he finally blurted, moving his hands in random directions to find a spot to put them. He held a metal tray where the strawberry smoothie had been. words; 625 tag; char as tiffany prescott note; i love 'em template made by missickle

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[style= width: 280px; padding: 10px; font-size: 9px; text-align: justify;]Tiffany had always held Hayden on a pedestal no matter what he did. In high school, she was technically a groupie, in which case she resembled a database of all-things-Hayden. Now that a decade separated the past and present, her credibility had severely downsized. Hayden was a stranger, somebody she used to know. After he left Chantilly, she never attempted to contact him. Hayden skipped out on a lot of planned events after Neal's death. Only Peyton, Hayden's little sister, made debuts at Scott-Prescott dinners. Only Peyton sat in the crowd during Tiffany's graduation ceremony. Naturally people in Chantilly circulated rumors: part of Hayden Scott had died alongside his best friend. To be fair, the same rumors sprouted about her, Tiffany. She accepted their accusations as fact. No one could possibly be the same after picking up a dead brother's belongings from the coroner's office. No one. 

Seeing Hayden again summoned her ancient grudge from the depths.  Tiffany never healed after Hayden left her defenseless.   He was partially to blame for the cold creature Tiffany transformed into. Sure, he hadn't meant to, but leaving her when she needed him most drove a ruthless stake into her brittle heart. Whether or not he was attempting to impress her, Tiffany saw right through the lies. How could Hayden assume he'd lie to her unscathed? How could he possibly fathom that she, as a childhood friend, wouldn't see his childhood habits shining through? Observation had become a grand scheme in Tiffany's lifestyle. Watching people live their everyday lives unbeknownst to her attention was a blessing and a curse. Most of the people she watched were complete strangers. Their stories were locked up, but life continued for them. Life was a downhill stroll compared to the uphill marathon Tiffany typically toiled. Nevertheless, life went on. For that reason, seeing other people in their natural element was a blessing; however, Tiffany never failed to wonder who Neal Prescott would be today. Now, her favorite pass time was a curse. "What's that, then?" Tiffany inquired. Her slender finger pointed directly at his chest, at the name tag glinting in the sunlight. "A flirting tactic?" A rueful smile hung on her lips. Tiffany was passionate until her skeletons took on total control of her thoughts and emotions. 

Her eyes scanned Hayden's expression, awestruck and struggling to form concise words. Matched with an English major, he had very little chance of taking home the gold if she decided to use her degree against him. After a decade, what were either of them supposed to say? The only links they possessed were Neal and Chantilly. Tiffany couldn't speak for Hayden, but those two topics were absolutely off-limits concerning her. Eventually, Hayden settled with a typical greeting. "How are you?" Tiffany smiled. A billion things flashed through her mind. None of them were the least bit optimistic. "Just another day in paradise, I guess," she replied. Tiffany turned away from Hayden momentarily to fetch her smoothie. When the  beverage was securely in her hands, she took a sip. A drop of water kissed her stomach, causing her to tense. "This is good," she added, taking another sip. "Did you make it or do you normally bring out smoothies for this place, completely uniformed, for no reason?" Tiff smirked, anticipating Hayden's response. There was no way in hell he could wriggle free of her hold over him. And until he admitted to the lie he was obviously playing off of, Tiffany wasn't going to back down. Hayden and Neal always tried to hide everything from Tiffany. As annoying as their secrecy has been back then, she found advantageous uses from their past experiences now. 

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hayden scott, 625 words, OUTFIT, evil tiff >_> ♔

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[Deleted]

today, in the blink of an eye,

i'm holding onto something
and i do not know why

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: B8B8B8; border: #550505 solid 4px; width: 400px; padding: 15 5 15 5px;] Far from blameless, Hayden didn't expect automatic forgiveness. In fact, he was in denial of exactly what he did to her. Maybe the worst part was that he had done nothing to her and nothing for her. After holding hands with Tiffany very briefly at Neal's funeral, he had slowly waned until his influence in her life died along with Neal. He was at an arm's length from everyone he met; it was how it had been since Neal's passing. The tragedy was what shaped who Hayden was -- it was the only psychological stressor besides his rough childhood relationship with his father. Now that he was an actor, Hayden minimized his contact with those in Chantilly. It pained him when he was either commended for pursuing an artistic goal or scolded for not pursuing a doctor's fate. Now that he was facing a ghost he had hung up in his closet quite some time ago, he had no idea what she would say. Her ice blue eyes, however, didn't need to work too hard. She was judging him for being the equivalent of his former pool boy. A struggling actor from a well-to-do family outside of Washington, D.C. was in work slacks and had just submitted to her by the simple act of bringing her a smoothie. Hayden didn't expect Tiffany Prescott to believe a lie out of his mouth. Against his will, she knew him -- she had known him for a long time. He kept secrets by nature, not because he intentionally hid issues from others. He simply buried them under the depths at their conception. Hayden rarely became a malignant tumor in someone's life on purpose. He had done so to a dead boy by basically killing Neal Prescott. He also broke some hearts here and there, but he never did it for his ego or to be ruthless. He tried to be good and tried to do what he thought was right. When it didn't coincide with that others thought was right, he rarely paid enough attention to see it and want to change it. He never meant to hurt Tiffany. It just happened when he left to boot camp and changed. After growing further and further apart that year, leaving only made the rift larger. Maybe a part of why they stopped speaking was because they wanted to move on and forget about the sick lies they told. Maybe it was better for them that way. Hayden looked down at his chest, praying to God that he would see a big "S" instead of a lame name tag. "A flirting tactic?" Tiffany suggested vengefully. Whatever her problem was, she wasn't playing the nice card. She was playing the opposite game, and Hayden's palms were too sweaty to pick his body back up from his spot in a figurative grave. He laughed awkwardly, putting his left hand in his pocket as if it could stop the shaking. "Not exactly. Maybe older ladies like this look, but people our age don't seem to," he replied sheepishly. Girls her age liked guys like Superman, not busboys working for nice tips. Tiffany, for the day, looked like the average LA girl. Wearing a pink bikini and a cruel smirk, she seemed shallow and judgmental. He narrowed his eyes a bit, half-squinting in the sun and half-speculating what was to come. Her curt reply to his cordial question forced him to shift his weight to his right leg in discomfort. He was squirming under pressure. The Prescott eyes could do that -- he remembered getting caught sneaking out when he was over at their house. He and Neal had attempted to go to a party at Nancy Evans's house. He could remember Mrs. Prescott's piercing glare, and he could see it so clearly in Tiffany's young face. A drop of water traveled down her navel, causing the abs in her stomach to flex momentarily. He raised an eyebrow, conspicuously imagining the rest of her flexing. He wanted to reach out and touch her, figure out if the mirage was real in the LA sun. For a moment after her next words fell from her lips, he turned to see Kellan behind him, giving him the thumbs up. Hayden frowned deeply and took a seat beside her. Kellan was obviously fine with how busy it was, so he didn't feel so bad about sticking around to defend himself against some snobbish little Chantilly baby. He stared back at her with a steel blue gaze. "It's what I do on the side to pay for my bills... Not really into taking charity, you know. Not for me." He set the tray down beside him on the pool chair. "You don't seem like the country club type," he observed. words; 795tag; char as tiffany prescott note; ooh hee hee ha ha ooh template made by missickle

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[style=color: 969696; font-size: 35px; line-height: 10%; font-family: times new roman; text-shadow: -1px 0 white, 0 1px white, 1px 0 white, 0 -1px white, 1px 0 white, 0 -1px white, 1px 0 white, 0 -1px white]here comes the storm

[style= width: 280px; padding: 10px; font-size: 9px; text-align: justify;]Tiffany had seen Hayden in virtually every mindset. Knowing someone for years completely dashed ignorance is bliss. Tiffany had been introduced to every emotion: pain, anger, anxiety, happiness, and depression. Among others, pain and anger held the clearest memories. Seclusion was a close second, if his isolated perspective could define who he was. To this day, remembering the selfish way Hayden skipped out on Neal's ceremony  never failed to flush Tiffany's system with renewed anger. Hayden had no excuse. Neal was dead. True; however, Neal never needed Hayden more than he had that day, married to his eternal tomb. Mr. Scott had been Chantilly's local judge back in the day. Tiffany had no idea if he continued his practices, but the raw awareness of his noble profession brought Hayden's current "career" to shame. For a boy who graduated from Johns Hopkins with a medical degree, a Los Angeles country club was the last place Tiffany expected him to find work.

To be fair, a run-down  theater was the last place Tiffany expected to find herself after Princeton. Her case was one more step in the right direction, but where did she really have room to judge? Sitting in the back office, sorting papers and squaring away the theater's bills, carried none of the skills Tiffany picked up through her intense Princeton instruction. She was qualified to become an English prodigy, the William Shakespeare, Chaucer, and Sophocles of the twenty-first century.  Her various journals held page upon page of outlined thoughts. Her journal from after Neal's passing was the most descriptive and bone-chilling. When all the light had been vacuumed from the universe, morbid excuses effortlessly poured onto blank pages. No one in the last ten years had managed to spark an idea strong enough to pursue. Nothing Uranium jumped out and begged to be written, so gradually, Tiffany's journal filled with numerous ideas. Unfortunately, none of them clicked.  Her screenwriting career was a long-shot away from reality. 

"That's because girls want financial security," Tiffany pointed out matter-of-factly. Their age group was the prime time to find the man of their dreams and settle down. The golden years were behind them, the future daunting and impossible to navigate without strife. Once more, Tiffany sipped her melting smoothie. Her mind wrapped around the entire situation millions of times trying to understand.   "Older women look to younger men to reassure themselves that they're still appealing to someone your age." Tiff shrugged. Her psychology course at Princeton helped develop her theories, but most of what she said was plain fact. Why she told Hayden this was a mystery. Maybe she wasn't completely past spiting him. Maybe she wanted a few more jabs before she jumped off his case. There was nothing else to do, after all. 

Hayden took a seat beside her in the next moment. Her feet instinctively moved out of the way, and she set her smoothie on the table once more. Observation kicked in and Tiffany's eyes followed Hayden's to a man their age. She assumed he was a friend of Hayden's because the man gave Hayden a thumbs up as soon as he turned. Now Tiffany's brow raised but she said nothing. Not yet. Her gaze averted to Hayden's steel gaze. Serious and intimidating, Hayden spoke about paying the bills and charity. Typical answer. She could justify her low-paying job at the theater that way. He had said something redeeming, however. She almost missed it. Keyword: almost. On the side. Thankfully, there was another source of income. Nonetheless, immediate gratification was not in Tiffany's agenda. She soaked in Hayden's next comment and sighed. "You're right. I'm not." For the smallest moment, a smile pierced her lips. It disappeared just as quickly. "Los Angeles in general isn't my scene, but I'm visiting someone." Her boyfriend. For whatever reason, she didn't mention that bit.  

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hayden scott, 652 words, OUTFIT, my fav right now. ♔

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[Deleted]

today, in the blink of an eye,

i'm holding onto something
and i do not know why

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: B8B8B8; border: #550505 solid 4px; width: 400px; padding: 15 5 15 5px;] Needless to say, it was difficult for Hayden to look at Tiffany without wanting to stare at her chest or every other inch of smooth, tan skin on her body. Of course, most bodies weren't all too special to Hayden Scott; he had a penchant for dating girls a little bit younger than him, but he knew the psychological reasons behind it and rarely allowed looks to blind him from what came after that. Commitments certainly weren't for people who grew up in a life of constant uncertainty, but he had chosen something: acting. Now that he was tying himself to a surefire career, he promised himself that he would stick to it. Someday, maybe he could say the same about a relationship. Now, however, he was going from the evolutionary perspective and justifying his liking of casual relationships. The curves and the fitness were all he needed to see to take interest in a girl; as long as she was also a pretty good time, he was on her case. With TIffany, it didn't feel the same, though. It felt wrong -- mostly because Neal was probably looking down from Heaven with a very pissed off expression. "That's because girls want financial security," Tiffany countered. He looked at her almost incredulously, but the actor's habit was to subdue it for the most part. What did she think he was, stupid? She wasn't the only one with a fancy degree and an extensive education in college Psychology. He knew about what girls wanted. His life wasn't devoid of examples, either. Girls liked him and he liked girls. Who was Tiffany Prescott to act like he was a poor little pauper boy with no shot at love? He wasn't into the shallow or greedy type, anyway. "Older women around here are only attractive because of plastic surgery," he attempted to joke. It seemed useless when Tiffany was obviously trying to derail any former credibility Hayden had retained from Johns Hopkins. He was still smart, but his choice seemed off-kilter to a great many of his acquaintances. He thought Tiffany would be some kind of an exception, but he was obviously wrong. This Tiffany v.2 was nothing like the bubbly young woman he once knew. Dismissively, the buxom blond didn't question Hayden about his employment arrangements. Instead, she delved into her own life. Was it supposed to make sense that Tiffany Prescott was suddenly the queen of the world? "You're right. I'm not," she seemed to sigh nonchalantly. He expected her to pick up a hand and inspect her cuticles like any other LA bombshell would do. He caught her smile and wanted to beg for another one as soon as it disappeared. Whatever was stirring within him frustrated him; seeing her was like being thrown in to a time machine with no warning and no tools of defense. He was in the open, vulnerable with a glimmering nametag and a poor boy's reputation. She had the upper-hand with a strawberry smoothie, a sharp tongue, and numerous bits of leverage. He felt like a deer in the headlights. He had no idea why he couldn't have simply run for the pool. Maybe he should have torn his shirt off and pretended to be a lifeguard. Instead of showing his discomfort with a childhood friend's subtle criticisms, he casually looked around at the poolgoers. "Visiting?" he asked, as if he didn't care to hear the answer. He could only imagine that it was some pretty girl she was visiting, maybe someone who had attended Princeton with her. The thought of Tiffany Prescott dating someone else was not a thought in his mind, not even after a decade of putting the pieces together and understanding what feelings she had felt toward him. He knew that a part of that was buried with Neal, but something inside of him wanted to know if she still felt the same. It was a nice ego boost when a pretty girl paid attention to him. It was even better if his childhood friend had feelings for him. It was selfish, but the thought popped into his mind for only a few moments before he turned his attention to her face once again. words; 703tag; char as tiffany prescott note; o: template made by missickle

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