“Nice to see you again, Mr. and Mrs. Donovan.” Cristiano greeted my parents when we arrived at the front porch of my house.
My dad, who usually lets people call him by his first name, did not at all say anything about that after being greeted. From the way his whole body stiffened and his demeanor evidently cautious of the boy in front of him, it was safe to say he was almost getting ready to tear poor Cristiano up.
Funny to think that that was my goal earlier this morning when my phone rang explicitly loud, waking me up from my sweet, sweet sleep. I got dressed and ready in under five minutes with the thought of meeting Cristiano at the grocery store and giving him a taste of my fist for calling me at such an ungodly hour on a weekend.
Although, that didn’t happen, because he sucked
