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Chapter 678
Back then, she was a constant annoyance to him, and the young man, Remington, would often snap at her with a rebellious glare.
Whenever he turned away, there she was, trailing behind him again.
He'd whip around to glare at her, and she'd just give him a timid, yet stubborn smile.
"Brother, don't knock the dog skin plaster. The name might not sound fancy, but it works wonders."
Later on, when he twisted his ankle playing basketball, that little girl, Lizetta, actually ran up and pulled out a dog skin plaster from her bag, sticking it on his ankle and cheekily drawing a lychee on it. "See, brother, told you it works. I'll be your personal dog skin plaster, sticking by you for life."
That plaster, Remington wore it for days.
And eventually, just like the plaster, Lizetta did manage to stick by him successfully.
Another day on the basketball court, some guys from the nearby court tossed Lizetta some cash, bossing her around.
"Hey, sticking to Mr. Dashiell like a dog skin plaster, huh? Go get us some iced drinks, make yourself useful."
Before the guy could finish his sentence, a basketball hit him square in the head.
He howled in pain and anger, turning around to see who threw it, his face draining of color.
Lizetta still remembered how Remington walked over to her then, already bearing his cool demeanor but with a youthful defiance.
He pulled her up from where she was picking up the money.
"Stop picking up all that nasty stuff!"
Remington snatched the money from her hand, stuffed it into the mouth of the troublemaker, and warned.
"Even if she's a clingy dog skin plaster, she's clinging to me, Remington. What gives you the right to boss her around?"
The guy ended up tearfully apologizing to Lizetta before leaving.
From that day on, nobody dared call her "worthless plaster" to her face.
Timothy, seeing her, would always tease Remington, "Oh, Remi's Lychee is here."
To this
Probably forgetting that the
Timothy still calls LizettaCopyright by Nôv/elDrama.Org.
originated from the lychee
g on the plaster.
Lizetta had forgotten too, until Remington mentioned it, suddenly recalling everything.
A rush of complex emotions surged in her heart, her nose tingling as she forgot to resist.
By the time she snapped back to reality, Remington had already put her other sock on.
He placed a pair of soft, cotton slippers beside her feet, "Wear these, don't catch a cold, or dancing later will be hard."
Lizetta pursed her lips, looking at the slippers, her throat tightening but she didn't refuse again.
She put on the slippers and stood up.
"All set, can I go now?"
"Put on the hat too."
Remington took a hat out of the bag, opened it, and placed it on Lizetta's head.
Strands of her hair fell across her face, the hat sitting awkwardly.
Remington reached out to tuck her hair behind her ear, but Lizetta blocked him, arranging her hair herself.
"Good enough, move!"
Her voice was icy, and Remington, catching the impatience in her eyes, felt
Caprickly sensation coursing Most
through his veins, an elusive ache.
He took a step aside, breathing a bit heavier.
Lizetta hurried to leave, not hesitating for a moment, eager to escape.
Yet, the next second, Remington caught her wrist.
"Little liar, forgotten all the promises you made," he said, his voice
suddenly deep with a hint of
annoyance, reminding her of her vow to stick by him for life