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“I wanted my dick sucked, not to listen to her talk about her two fucking cats all night.” This makes me laugh. “But you like a little pussy.” “Not the same kind of pussy Kristy likes.” He smirks, still lingering at the door. “Too hairy.” JB sticks out his tongue and licks the air.
“Oh good, you’re not in here diddling yourself. I’d hate to walk in on that.” I roll my eyes and set my cell phone down. “When have I ever done that?” “You should. Not that I want to see it, I’m just saying—you should.”
Daydreaming is food for the soul, my grandmother used to tell me. Don’t be stingy with your dreams, Skylar. Close your eyes and imagine…
“Oh honey, I’m judging you anyway. Because I’m your friend and that’s what friends do.”
“All right pissflap, here’s what we got.”
The last thing I need is Zeke Daniels hanging around like the plague. Because where he goes, his best friend Oz goes, and where Oz goes, that idiot Rex Gunderson shows up—then before I know it, the whole wrestling team will know how I fucked up my dating life.
“You’re like a car wreck,” the bastard is saying. “I can’t peel my eyes away—I have to know what happens.” He leans against the metal lockers, crossing his ankles and arms. Cocky. “I’m invested.”
“If I find out you’re creeping on her, I’ll sock you in the balls.” I cup a hand over my scrotum. “I don’t want you socking my balls.” He stares at me like I’m mental, lip curled on one end. “No one wants to be socked in the balls, dipshit.” Okay then.
Two plus two is eleventy hundred.
I fucking love her. One swipe. One date. Sweet. Salty. Bratty. Kind—and all mine.
He prattles on, “Oh! They see us!” Zeke’s arm goes up to wave. “How nice, the little blonde one is pointing over here and your girlfriend keeps slapping at her hand like you’re doing to me.” He grabs my limp arm by the wrist, creating a floppy salute. “Wave and say hello, shithead.” “Put your goddamn hand down!” “Relaxi taxi, bro.”
Zeke starts walking away. Stops. Pivots back around. Snaps his fingers, remembering something. “Oh, by the way—your dick looks super small in that singlet. Has anyone ever told you that?” What. A. Douchebag.
There is a knock on our front door, and Hannah scoops up an armload of snacks. “That’s my cue to make like a tampon and get out of this hole.”
“Because he came in one minute and forty-seven seconds!” Hannah shouts from her bedroom. “I timed it. Sorry folks—I am what I am!”
