Why you gotta do me like this, Bobby?"
Bobby looked up at me from the other side of the folding table, trying to look innocent. It didn't really work with his spiked hair and the gold and diamond grill he always wore. "What you mean, Missy Kelsea?"
I rolled my eyes and snorted. "Cut the Charlie Chan s**t, Bobby. Save it for the tourists." Bobby was born and raised in the Bronx, he just used the accent to get tourists to think they could pull one over on him. I held up the jeans I was looking at. "These Dolces are wretched. The butt seam is so far off I'd have to walk sideways."
He shrugged and dropped the ridiculous fake Chinese accent. "I dunno, Kelsea, the damn shipment just kind of sucks this month. Must be using six-year-olds to piece everything together over there or something."
"
