11 Chapter 11: Mariana

Marcus whistles softly. "You sure clean up nice when you get yourself out of those yoga pants."

I shoot him a disapproving look as I finish applying my blush and grab my flat iron again.

"I'll have you know, I wore jeans most of the day today."

"Ooh! You're stepping up your game."

"Ha. Ha. Actually, I had to go grocery shopping and didn't feel like looking like a total schlump."

He plops himself down on my bed, a newly dyed purple Mohawk flopping to one side, and watches me finish getting ready. I don't particularly care to have a bathroom vanity in between the bathroom and my master closet. It's seriously outdated. But it comes in handy when I'm trying to primp and I need to hear the kids. Or talk to my next-door neighbor.

"Well I think you look fantastic." He looks around. "Your room, however, is a disaster."

"I couldn't find anything to wear," I say, as I clip a section of my hair up and out of my way. "I haven't been on a date in over a decade."