“I wouldn’t say chicks in general hope for that shit,” Bea replied with a laugh. “But you can’t fucking fault a girl for wondering, you know. Silas is hot as fuck, in that recluse kind of way.” Maybe it was playing dirty to say it, but she would never claim to play fair. “And if you’re going to do a fucking pirate, do the Dread Pirate Roberts. He’s more kick ass that Captain Sparrow.” She’d never understood the appeal of Jack Sparrow, but whatever. At the question she nodded. “Not sure what I’m going to wear, but I wouldn’t miss the fucking chance to dress up.” She’d done makeup for the Halloween thing, so maybe she would offer that again.
She smirked. “Or the fucking nice ones,” she countered. “Don’t even fucking deny that Regan is ten times nicer than your ass.” If she didn’t generally think that Regan was a pretty cool guy she’d probably get sick of the nice; but it worked for him. “Fuck, I hope the government lined them up and shot them on purpose. They give my whole fucking gender a bad name,” she made a face to punctuate her point, then laughed under her breath at his assessment of the two of them. “Fucking textbook,” she agreed. “Wish I could say it’s the only fucking stereotype I fit.” But that wasn’t true, and individualistic as she liked to think she was, she was also stereotypical in a couple of ways.
“They are good for making a fucking guess about a guys junk, though,” she mused because apparently she’d forgotten there were lines. “The more uncomfortable it looks, the bigger they are I always figured. ‘Cause if their junk was fucking small it wouldn’t be that bad, right?” God, how did they get from talking Casablanca to skinny jeans on men? This was a strange conversation. Not the strangest she’d ever been a part of, but pretty everywhere all the same.
“I’m cute when I talk fashion shit?” she repeated with both eyebrows raised. “What am I, fucking four?” Cute wasn’t generally a word associated with Bea, not that she minded, she mostly said that for a reaction, but it surprised her. “You look like a fucking Ken doll, so I don’t know if I’ll be able to do that. And since you think I’m so fucking cute when I talk fashion shit, you’ll think I’m adorable when I’ve got you at my mercy.” A not so empty threat, since the more she thought about it, the more tempting it was to try and makeover Brandon. “Hell, you might even end up putty in my hands.”
She bit into her lip and shrugged. “Because I would judge me,” she admitted. “I’ve got a fucking image to maintain, you know.” Not the smoothest of answers, but fuck, Brandon knew she wasn’t even remotely smooth, and she wasn’t even sure if she really cared whether or not she impressed him.