(Untitled)
Rick Castle looks ridiculous with a suntan.
Odd, because they guy spends nine months of the year (and around four figures) trying to affect the appearance of a natural tan through a lot of pampering, buffing, scalding and chemical peeling. But get him out into the sun for a couple of weeks, au naturale, and all of that dermatological work goes to ( Read more... )
Odd, because they guy spends nine months of the year (and around four figures) trying to affect the appearance of a natural tan through a lot of pampering, buffing, scalding and chemical peeling. But get him out into the sun for a couple of weeks, au naturale, and all of that dermatological work goes to ( Read more... )
Comments 147
The tinier, more ginger party of the Castle clan doesn't have a suntan so much as the splash of skin across the bridge of her nose looks like someone artistically flicked a considerable amount of paint over it. Tanning is something that people in possession of actual skin pigmentation do.
The booth she has herself curled up in is fully stocked with philosophy textbooks, her laptop screen-saver is bouncing along idly, and there's a pencil caught between her teeth as she narrows her eyes down some point that Descartes has found it incredibly important to make.
Her final paper is due in two days.
Apparently the Bar has deemed summer school within the field of acceptable circumstances for the intergalactic stealing of extra homework time.
No to imply that she's complaining about this.
Reply
It's about a two hour drive from The Hamptons to Princeton (three-and-ten if you hit traffic), and don't think that Castle's not mapped out the trip down to every toll, rest stop, and novelty joke shop along the way. Of course, he hasn't made the journey. He's thought about it, though. 'Sat there in the den with the map laid out on the desk, a monument of a manuscript buried somewhere underneath, looking at New Jersey and imagining all of the sweater-vested, poli-sci-studying, Keats-quoting adolescent males lay between him, his daughter, and the Turnpike.
Yeah, it's probably best he didn't go.
He turns around to see the familiar ginger head floating in a back booth. "Alexis?" 'Puts his drink down, as if that'll help clarify. "Alexis, hey!" He threads his way through the bar to reach her. "Sweetie, it's good to see you! What are you doing here? Wait --" he pauses "-- you weren't expelled from Princeton, were you?"
Reply
There is a deeply unfortunate truth about co-ed dorming. It seems rather glamourous at first glance, the whole 'living with teenage boys' thing, until you stumble upon the fact that you have to live with teenage boys. And the vast majority of them are significantly less appealing when they haven't washed their clothes or their rooms or their selves for extended periods of time.
Being an only child leaves you sadly unprepared for these tragic unveilings.
Alexis only jumps a tiny, not at all embarrassing, amount when she hears her name - pencil tugged out from between her teeth to mark her page as she scans the wild and untamed area beyond her tiny little fortress of textbooks. She's grinning even before she catches sight of him and has extracted herself enough to fling her arms around his neck when he reaches her table.
She raises an eyebrow, wagging a (lime-green) highlighter at him, "Do I look expelled?"
Reply
"God, no, you look great, not expelled --" he pauses and holds her out in front of him "-- I don't want you to be expelled, right?"
Reply
Leave a comment