Facial for the First Time Page #5

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Okay, you've gotta get out.

The window.

Hurry.

Uh, okay.

What now?

Jump.

Are you okay?

Yeah. Yeah.

Okay, go. Call me.

Okay. Yes.

Wait, wait, wait.

I don't even think I got your number.

Aubrey?

Aubrey!

Badass. I was like

Jason Bourne, you know?

Or Jason Statham.

Then I called you.

What?

You're a sweet boy, you know that?

Shut up.

No, you truly are.

Your Bambi-like innocence

is just, what? Adorable.

I'm gonna pinch your cheek.

Screw you.

David, there is no boyfriend.

But--

No.

What, you think she made it up?

Yes, of course she did.

Girls have to say they have a boyfriend

when they meet some random dick.

It's practically in the manual.

I don't know, I really believed her.

Of course you did. Even now,

when I'm assuring you it's bullshit.

It's how you know if she likes you.

In a couple of days, chuck her a text.

See if she wants to hang out, get some

Chinese, get some Szechuan chicken.

If she says "boyfriend," you know she

didn't really like you. Thanks, love.

But you can always tell yourself,

"Hey, she has a boyfriend."

You know? "it's not me."

It's a good system. Tell him.

I'm not gonna text her.

Why not?

I thought you said

she had a tight little bottom.

Because.

Because of Jane?

Seriously, David,

that's never gonna happen.

I accidentally spilled wine

on her carpet.

Right. Who gives a sh*t?

She does.

She's got this thing about her carpet.

The way the sunlight hits it

at a certain point in the afternoon and...

Couldn't text her even if I wanted to.

She didn't give you her number,

did she?

No. She started to.

She typed in the first few digits,

and then we...

But I did get those first three digits

on my phone, right? So...

I mean, come on, how many possible

combinations of numbers could there really be?

Ten thousand.

Just call Information.

Don't be stupid, okay?

She's not gonna be listed.

Plus, I don't even know

her parents' first names.

And Lashanda says there's like

What's the sh*t's a Lashanda?

The lady I talked to

when I called Information.

Well, you know where she lives.

I know where she-- Great.

So I could stand outside of her house?

Because that won't be so creepy.

Yes. Great.

Find her on Facebook.

I don't think she does Facebook.

She doesn't believe

in that son of thing.

She doesn't believe in it?

This girl sounds like a ginormous

ass-ache, my friend.

Like a huge ache in my ass.

I'm telling you, I know the type.

I know the type.

The alternative rock indie chick

who only goes to an films,

smells like vegan food,

can't be bothered to shave her pits.

Eventually falls in love

with a scaly bull dyke named Harley.

Where do you even come up--?

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