Nerds never get laid, the groom being the exception.
Thus his rule is proved not workable.
“I’m not…” Clark sputtered. What had Cat told her brother? “I have a girlfriend. Her name is Wanda.”
I love mentions of Wanda.
“What the goose doesn’t know is good for the gander,” Peter said, bouncing his eyebrows.
Peter is horrible.
Other than that one fatal flaw, the woman looked amazing, despite the fact that she was wearing a hot pink prom dress, which showed as much cleavage as a Suicide Slum prostitute. Perhaps it was due to that fact. That old teenage fantasy was still clear in Clark’s mind.
It helps that it is the cleavage of the right woman.
“I looked,” Clark insisted, his pride still bruised by Cat’s earlier barb.
Only long enough to learn it was not Lois.
“That dress says she’s poor and desperate, Kent, but she’s still out of your league.
Peter is the type of judger who really annoys me.
Under that dress, she’s a ten, guar-an-teed,” Peter retorted, pushing Clark’s extended arm out of his way. “Trust me on this. Superman has nothing on my x-ray eyes.”
Who needs x-ray vision with that dress?
“On the dress?”
“On the friendship,” the woman replied. “This dress was condemned to death in the eighties.”
I love these lines.
She surrounded his neck with her arms, rocking back and forth in time with the music and against his body. A resurgence of his old fantasy returned, only this time with a twist… This time, it was real.
Real always beats fantasy.
Not wishing to verbally correct her wrong fact, Clark dipped his head and brushed her lips with his. “You’re not blonde, Minha.”
He used the name.
