Free The American Princess - Best Love Story Ever by Jennifer Tate

really is nothin' but a big rat with a bushy tail, then
babe, 'follow me, cause [ah'm yo] Pied Piper.'"
    * * *
    This wart hog's acting as if I belong to him,
Betty-Jo thought. And I suspect that it's not an arm wrestle, but
the prospect of a squirrel hunt on the bucket seat of his Jimmy,
that has him all worked up. Oh well, at least my date problem for
the prom has been solved. And really, how can I complain? He's the
most sought after guy at Grand Strand High: handsome, athletic, a
shoo-in for prom king, and my savior from the Dung Beetle. If only
his attitude toward women didn't scream wart hog.
    Betty-Jo bought a little, black, stretch-lace
dress with spaghetti straps for the prom. It was unpretentious—at
least it was unpretentious until she wore it. On her, it suddenly
became suggestive.
    Jim Bob picked her up on prom night, and
helped her into his GMC pride and joy. He fumbled with the gardenia
wrist corsage he'd bought. Then he poured her a glass of sparkling
white wine. She was a novice drinker, so after she downed a couple
more glasses of the vinegary tasting plonk, at the pre-prom, she
was flying.
    The prom dinner and dance were fun. The guys
milled around her, hoping for a dance. They knew that a dance with
Betty-Jo guaranteed a memorable evening. Jim Bob tried to keep her
to himself, but Deborah Sue Hodgesmith, Jim Bob's most recent
ex-girlfriend, was lusting after him—dry rutting him whenever she
could get him onto the dance floor.
    I can understand why Deborah Sue's looking
and feeling quite all right to the Wart Hog, Betty-Jo thought. And
in fairness, Jim Bob was decent enough to explain his dilemma to
Betty-Jo. "B-J, ah have a problem," he said. "Deborah Sue wants to
give me a hand-job. From you ah'm lookin' at a handshake. If you
were me, who'd you leave with?"
    She laughed uneasily. "You do love to frolic
in the gutter, don't you. How could anyone as pretty as you have
inherited such wart hog cravings?"
    "Is it ma fault that ma momma got friendly
with a Y chromosome? Anyway, ah lahk Deborah Sue. All she eve' asks
fo' is a pat on the be-hind, and a warm weenie t' hold."
    Such a low life. "If the prospect of a
hand-job from Deborah Sue gets you all excited, a dose of athlete's
foot must be to die for. I'd rather spend time with Quasimodo, and
a trough full of pigs, but then, I lack your wart hog
cravings."
    Jim Bob grinned at her. "Ah'm a religious
wart hog. Ma attitude toward women is 'do unto [women], as you
would have [women] do unto you.'"
    "We'll call it the Wart Hog's golden
rule."
    Whether Jim Bob was a male piggy or merely a
religious wart hog was academic, because Betty-Jo felt threatened.
She moved against him, and ran her fingertips lightly across the
nape of his neck; the punishment for her indiscretion was an
expression of interest below Jim Bob's belt.
    "My God, it's alive!" She twisted her hips
away.
    The Wart Hog grinned. "Ah thank it lahkes
you."
    "Why don't we have the last dance together?
My Captain," she whispered, before she licked his ear. "Then you
can decide which of us you want to leave with."
    That slow dance with Betty-Jo and the Everly
Brothers made Jim Bob's decision a no-brainer—it made the Kama
Sutra seem boring. And she, bless her, upped the anti. "Lets you
and me take a run down to Murrels Inlet, and see if the submarines
are racing."
    Jim Bob covered the fifteen miles down Route
17, then south on Waccamaw Drive to Oyster Cove, in record time.
But even with Jim Bob's record setting pace, Betty-Jo still had
plenty of time to be mad at herself. She had decided to let him bed
her for all the wrong reasons: she was nineteen, all the girls
wanted Jim Bob, and allowing that Deborah Sue Twinkie to leave the
prom with her date, would have been more humiliating than an
admission of trench mouth.
    Po, po Betty-Jo, she thought as they pulled
into a secluded spot at Oyster Cove. She dreams of romance in
France, but gets a fuck in a truck. Balled for the first time in a
Jimmy by a