Текст книги "Troubles and Treats"
Автор книги: Tara Sivec
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 14 страниц)
“Hey there, buddy! I saw you guys pull in and I just wanted to make sure everything was okay. My name’s Jackson,” he says with a smile as he sticks his hand out for me to shake.
The only good thing about this moment right now is the knowledge that the hand I’m touching this douchebag with is the one that was just on my dick.
“Hey, Jackson! How were those Snickerdoodles yesterday?” Jenny asks him as she comes around to my side of the car.
Who the what? Snickerdoodles?
“Oh my God, those were the best cookies I’ve ever had. Seriously, Jenny. You can bake a mean cookie,” Fuckson tells her with a big smile.
I know his name is Jackson. Shut up. Bitch ate my Snickerdoodles. He’s Fuckson from now on.
“Well, my girlfriend owns a bakery so I get all the inside tips,” she says with a giggle.
A FUCKING GIGGLE.
“Oh, before I forget, tell Veronica my niece left Barbie’s giant Malibu house at my place the other day, so I’ll bring it over on Wednesday for our play date.”
The fuck you say!
“Oh my God, she will absolutely freak out!” Jenny tells him.
Fucky McFuckson says his good-byes and jogs back over to his house, whistling the whole way.
Who the fuck whistles while he walks? The Seven Dwarfs, that’s who. Fuckson is a dwarf. He’s Fuck Head Dwarf; the sneaky bastard dwarf that tries to steal wives and children and makes them suddenly want vanilla instead of Mint Chocolate Chip.
“I’ll call Claire and let her know you’ll be over in a little bit to get the kids,” Jenny says as she turns and makes her way up the driveway to the house.
I stand there in the driveway long after she’s gone inside, staring over at Fuck Face’s house.
“As God is my witness, I shall never like vanilla again.”
Chapter 19 – Brazilians and FUPAs
I have a headache of mass promotions. Sticking around Veronica’s preschool the whole two hours she’s here probably isn’t the best idea. There’s a parent viewing area with a two-way mirror so we can see the kids but they can’t see us. Unfortunately, we can still hear all twenty-three kids screaming.
“You look like shit,” Liz says as she sits down next to me and hands me a cup of coffee.
Her three-year-old Molly goes to the same preschool as Veronica and usually we alternate who picks up and who takes the kids. Today is Liz’s day but I need a break from work and had decided to spend my free time watching Veronica learn and play.
“I feel like shit. I have the worst headache and Jackson had to cancel our play date yesterday so I didn’t get a nap,” I tell her.
Liz knows all about Jackson ever since she stopped by last week to drop off some hand-me-down clothes from her girls for Veronica. She had walked through the front door to find me asleep on the couch, Jackson giving Billy a bottle, and Veronica sitting next to him watching cartoons.
“I still can’t believe you have a manny,” she says with a laugh as I take a sip of my coffee.
“His name’s not Manny. It’s Jackson. Remember, I introduced you?”
She laughs and shakes her head. “A manny is a male version of a nanny. And as far as I know, they are young and hot and usually gay. But your manny definitely isn’t giving off the gay vibe,” she explains.
“He’s not a nanny or a manny or whatever. He’s just a friend helping me out.”
“A hot as fuck friend that I would bang seven weeks to Sunday if I wasn’t married. Oh, who am I kidding? If Jim was a complete loser of a husband and never helped me out around the house or with the kids, I’d still bang him,” she laughs.
I look at her in shock while she laughs and doesn’t even realize that she just summed up my life lately with that one statement.
“It’s a good thing you and Drew are back to fucking like twisted, demented rabbits, right?” she asks with a smile.
Her smile drops as soon as she sees the look on my face.
“Oh no, what the fuck? You guys just had date night four days ago. That was supposed to cure everything. I assumed you looked like death warmed over from having sex in a bounce house or some shit like that. What the hell happened?”
I can feel the tears stinging my eyes and my lip start to quiver, and I know I’m going to break down any second.
“Shit. Don’t cry. Not here. Come on, we’re going for a walk.”
Liz grabs my arm and pulls me up from my chair and drags me out into the school hallway.
We walk down past a few other classrooms and she stops and turns to face me. “Talk.”
I take a deep breath and let it all out in one enormous explosion of truth. Everything I’ve been feeling and have worried about and stressed over for the last few months. It all comes pouring out of me.
“I’m so tired, Liz. I’m physically tired and brainy tired and Drew is just no help at all, and I don’t understand how he can NOT see that I need help or ever even ask me if he can get up with Billy in the middle of the night or change a diaper or fix Veronica lunch or get her ready for school or help me with the other fucking million and one things I’ve got going on,” I complain, as I start pacing in front of Liz. I grab onto a lock of my hair and start twirling it around my finger, something I do when I’m nervous or freaked out. And I’m freaked out right now! I’m also not paying attention to just how fast I’m twirling and before I know it, my finger is stuck in a knot of hair right next to my head.
“My finger’s stuck. MY FINGER’S STUCK!” I yell in a panic.
Liz rushes up to me and puts her hand over my mouth so I stop yelling and tries yanking on my arm with her other hand.
“Mmmmmmmmmffffff!” I mumble-scream into her hand.
Liz huffs and shakes her head at me. “I am going to remove my hand from your mouth. Don’t you dare scream.”
I nod my head at her so she knows I’ll be good, and she slowly removes her hand from my mouth. Once she’s satisfied I’m not going to freak out every classroom in the hallway, she gets to work trying to free my finger from my hair, and I go right back into my complaining.
“All he wants me for is sex and then when I do try and give it to him, he wants to do it the same way we always have, and I think there’s something wrong with me because I just don’t want to do it the same way we always have, and I don’t know if I want to be a dirty whore anymore even though he still wants a whore, and I just didn’t feel right calling him a slut on Saturday but maybe I will next time, but now I don’t even know if there ever WILL be a next time, and Jackson is just so nice and pretty and helpful and he knew immediately that I just wanted sleep and some help, and I don’t know what to do! What the fuck should I do if I don’t want to be a dirty whore anymore, Liz?!”
The sound of someone coughing stops my rant and Liz and I both turn to see one of the teachers from the kindergarten class standing behind us with a line of kids, everyone staring at us with eyes wide and mouths open. Twenty five-year-olds are looking at me like I’m crazy and who knows, I probably am. I think I’m cranking up. I’m going to have to leave my kids and go live in a nut house with my finger still stuck in my hair and I don’t even LIKE nuts.
“Mrs. Dellena, what’s a dirty whore?” one of the kids asks his teacher.
“Sorry, please excuse us,” Liz says with a kind smile to the teacher as she grabs my arm and drags me down the hall where there are no classrooms or children to horrify, forcing my finger to magically get unstuck from my hair.
“Yay, you did it!” I tell her, holding my finger up in front of her face.
She bats my finger out of the way and looks at me in shock. “What the fuck just came out of your mouth?”
“I thought I’d never be able to use this finger again,” I tell her in awe.
“Shut the hell up about your finger! What the hell is really going on with you and Drew?” she demands.
“I know. It’s a lot.”
“You’re damn right it’s a fucking lot. Why the hell haven’t you mentioned all of this before? I thought you guys were just going through a typical dry spell that everyone goes through when they have multiple kids. This is way beyond that. I want to kick Drew’s ass way more than usual right now,” she says angrily.
“It’s not all his fault,” I say with a sigh.
“The fuck it isn’t! You’re his wife. His soul mate. He should be taking care of you and making sure all of your needs are met, not leaving it up to the eye candy living across the street. And Jenny, that kid is total jailbait. You need to stop any and all thoughts you might be harboring about him.”
“Hey, don’t judge him just because he’s done time. He is a very nice person. And how the hell do you even know he was in jail?” I ask angrily.
“Jenny, he’s like nineteen! He’s thirteen years younger than you, and he lives with his mommy and daddy. Do you really think you can just divorce Drew and this kid is going to take on a thirty-two-year-old with two kids? How the hell is he going to support you with his paper route money?”
“Wait, what? What the hell are you talking about? I don’t want to divorce Drew! Sure, Jackson is nice to look at and he’s a big help, but I don’t want to marry the guy! I love Drew. I just don’t know how to fix this,” I tell her as the tears I’ve been trying to keep inside begin falling.
“Oh thank fucking God,” Liz says in relief. “This, we can fix. We just need to kick Drew’s ass and get his God dammed head in the game. Why the hell haven’t you just told him all of this?”
“I don’t know! I thought he would just get it like he always has in the past. He’s always known what I wanted and needed and after a while, I just started getting pissed that he didn’t. Now that it’s gone on this long, I don’t know what the hell to do!” I wail.
“Lucky for you, I’m here. We’re going to fix this shit,” Liz tells me.
She puts her arm around my shoulder in a very uncharacteristic show of affection for her and we walk back to the classroom to pick up the girls while she plans a strategy.
~
“When you said you were going to fix things, this really isn’t what I had in mind,” I complain an hour later.
We drop Veronica off with Drew’s dad who was already watching Billy for the day, and Liz tells him in no uncertain terms that he needs to watch Molly as well. He calls her ma’am and scoops up both girls in the driveway and runs back into the house before we can even tell him how long we will be gone.
We are currently sitting in the waiting room of the local salon waiting for my turn to get a Brazilian wax.
“Before we can fix your shit, we need to fix your shit,” Liz says with a wave of her hand in the general direction of my vagina. “No man should have to get his penis caught in a jungle of pubic hair.”
I roll my eyes and cross my arms over my chest.
“It’s not that bad,” I complain.
“The last time you even took a razor to that area was seven months ago. It is THAT bad. The day you wanted me to look at your vagina I could see those things trying to jump ship out of the sides of your underwear. Your twat looked like one of those freaky clowns that’s bald down the middle of its white head with ginormous tufts of hair sprouting out by it’s ears.”
Before I can bitch at her about comparing my vagina to a clown’s head, the receptionist calls my name and we both stand up.
“Are you really going back there with me?” I ask.
“Hell yes I am. Your wish is finally coming true. I will see your vagina. Plus, I really want to see the look on that woman’s face when she gets a peek at your plethora of pubes. Your copious curls, your abundant bush, the wild mane that if it sees a spark will start a forest fire,” she states.
“Are you finished?” I ask irritably.
“I think so. But give me five minutes and I might be able to get one more in.”
“You are kind of dicky,” I tell her as we follow the receptionist into one of the private waxing rooms.
“Yes, and in just a few minutes, a dick will be able to find your vagina without needing night vision goggles and a weed whacker.”
“Okay, Jenny, if you want to just strip down and wrap the towel that’s on the table around your waist, the esthetician will be in shortly,” the receptionist says with a cheerful smile before leaving the room and closing the door behind her.
“An anesthetician? Geeze, I had no idea they went to such extremes and the same guy who gives you an epidural during child birth does waxing now. Just how bad is this going to hurt?” I ask as I strip off my jeans and underwear.
“Holy fuck, Jenny! How does that shit even fit in your underwear?!” Liz yells as she laughs and points. “And the guy who gives you an epidural is an Anesthesiologist. I’m going to need a fucking anesthesiologist to numb my eyes after seeing this!”
I quickly turn away from her and wrap the towel around my waist so she can stop making fun of me. I reach for the hem of my shirt and begin pulling it up my stomach when Liz stops me.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Uh, I’m stripping down like the girl told me to do,” I tell her with my hands still on the edge of my shirt and my stomach exposed.
“Do you have hairy tits or something? Why the hell would you need to take your shirt off?”
I huff at her in annoyance that she just expects me to know what hell I’m doing in this situation.
Pulling my shirt back down, I hop up on the table that’s covered in doctor’s office paper, careful to keep the towel firmly in place so Liz doesn’t come up with any more insults.
“Okay, so really, how long does this take? Is she just going to like, slop some wax right on the upper part and then rip it off?” I ask Liz.
“Uh, no. This is a Brazilian. She is going to get all up in your shit from your FUPA to your asshole,” Liz informs me with a completely serious look on her face.
“What the hell is a 'FUPA' and what do you mean, ‘all up in my shit?'” I ask her nervously.
“FUPA equals fat, upper pussy area. And all in your shit, like, you know, spread you open and get all in there, then flip you over on all fours and clean up your ass.”
Why is she so matter-of-fact about this crap?! And I do NOT have a fat, upper pussy area!
“They’re going to spread open my folds and wax in there?!”
Liz lets out a sound of disgust and grimaces. “Please, God, never say the word folds again.”
This is beyond embarrassing. I really did not expect that the waxing of my bits included someone getting this intimate with me.
“What if I’m like, moist, down there? Will the wax even stick?”
Liz makes a gagging sound at this point and gives me a dirty look. “Seriously. Folds and now moist? Cut that shit out or I’m going to puke all over this floor.”
The door opens before I can ask any more questions and a short, cute, bubbly blonde walks in and introduces herself.
“Hi! My name is Stephanie and I’ll be taking care of your waxing needs today,” she says as she walks over to the waxing station next to the table and stirs the already melted wax in the warming pot and begins setting out all of the waxing strips and the wooden sticks she’ll use to torture me to death.
“Have you ever had a Brazilian before?” she asks as she turns around and helps me lay down on the table.
“No, I usually just shave, but it’s been a while” I tell her as she rolls the work station on wheels closer to the table so she can reach it better.
“Careful, you might poke an eye out or something when you get a look in there. Prepare yourself,” Liz jokes from her chair over against the wall.
“Don’t worry, I’m sure it’s not as bad as some of the women I’ve seen come in here,” she reassures me with a smile as she parts my towel to get a look at what she’s working with.
“Oh my,” she says softly and then quickly steps away. “Well, um. Wow. Okay, I think I’m going to need more waxing strips. And maybe more wax,” Stephanie says as she moves away from the table to grab extra supplies out of the cabinet against the wall.
Liz is full on laughing and snorting at this point, and I lift up my hand and give her the finger without raising my head from the table.
Stephanie comes back moments later and adds the extra supplies to the table. She dips one of the wooden sticks into the wax and holds her hand under it to catch any excess dripping, then she spreads it out all over my SUPA – skinny upper pussy area.
It’s warm and soothing when she spreads it around and I kind of like it.
Who knew this would actually be enjoyab-
“AAAAAHHH MY VAGINA!” I scream suddenly at the top of my lungs, my hands flying down to cover myself and press down on the area that burns like it’s on fire to try and alleviate some of the pain.
“OH MY GOD DID YOU PULL MY CLIT OFF?!” I yell at Stephanie in horror as she stands there holding the cloth strip that’s full of hair and quite possibly my pleasure button.
“Sorry, I should have probably warned you I was going to do that but I find it’s best not to warn someone for the first one because they’ll just tense up and it will hurt worse,” Stephanie explains with a happy smile as she turns and picks up another wax strip and dips the wooden stick into the hot wax.
“The first one is always the worst. Suck it up, bitch,” Liz tells me from her chair.
The next half hour doesn’t go by quickly at all, and several times I have to stop myself from smacking Stephanie in her face. Liz must have sensed my desire to choke the poor woman and came up to the table to hold my arms down. Luckily, Stephanie redeemed herself by telling us horror stories about other women she’s waxed: women getting their monthly visitor right in the middle of waxing or women having orgasms during the event. That right there boogers my mind but then I remember how much Drew liked it when I had to rip the pieces of tree bark off of his ass during “The Great Honey Adventure”.
One thing I can say about this whole thing is my ass has never looked better. When she had me up on all fours so she could get down in that area, she got a mirror for me. Let me just say, it’s so smooth I kind of want to pet my own asshole. Liz keeps asking me if I want some alone time so I can finger my ass, and I think she's joking so I give Stephanie’s mirror back to her before I get carried away.
The only good part about this day is that I don’t feel so self-conscious about myself anymore. Maybe this whole time I haven’t really been worried about left-over baby fat; I’ve been worried about my vagina being too furry. I really do feel a whole lot sexier knowing what’s going on down there in my underwear right now. Once Stephanie could actually see my vagina, she had told me it was very nice. And since she’s seen a lot of vaginas in her line of work, I trust her judgment.
I’m a little more confident now about talking to Drew as well and telling him what I need. Weird how a hairless vagina can do that for you. I’m pretty excited to finally be honest with Drew and take my new vagina out for a spin. I wish it wasn’t frowned upon to go without pants in public.
Chapter 20 – Who’s on Goal, What’s on Basket?
“So how good looking are we talking here? Like Chace Crawford hot or Penn Badgley hot?” Carter asks me while we’re packing up our work bags and getting ready to clock out for the night.
Of course I tell my boys everything about the fucking home wrecker that moved in across the street. They know he’s trying to move in on my territory and take over as hottest guy on the block. Oh, hell no! That position has been mine for four years. Plus, I don’t like the way he looked at Jenny the other night. And she had made him cookies. COOKIES! She only makes cookies for me. Just like I’m the only one who ever surprises her with little candy treats. Well, I used to do that. I guess I’ve kind of forgot lately.
“Who the fuck are Chace Penn and Crawford Badgley?” Jim asks as he walks with us towards the exit doors of the automotive plant.
“It’s Chace Crawford and Penn Badgley. The two leading actors on Gossip Girl,” I tell him. “It’s like you’ve never even picked up an US Weekly. Live a little, Jim.”
We head out to the parking lot and make our way to our cars. I can’t get the picture of Fuckson out of my head and the way he was so casually friendly with my wife.
“Oh, Jenny! Thank you so much for the cookies. I can’t wait to eat your scrumptious cookies and then fuck you in the living room on a pile of cookies while your husband is at work,” I say in a high pitched voice.
“Does he really sound like that? Because I gotta say, if he does, you have nothing to worry about,” Carter tells me as we wave to a few other guys heading out to their cars.
“Well, it wasn’t exactly like that. It was more like, ‘Mmmm, me like cookies. Me eat cookies all gone,” I say in a deep, voice.
“So easy a caveman can do it,” Jim says with a laugh.
“This is no laughing matter, Jim. I know I made a huge mistake when I had my dad trail Jenny because I thought she was hiding something from me a few weeks ago. and I’m still in the doghouse for it, but what if she’s decided to get back at me by actually hiding something?”
In all honesty, I really don’t think the stuff going on with us lately is that serious, even though I went along with the therapy and the disastrous dinner with the neighbors. I kind of just do it to humor Jenny. If she thinks something needs to be fixed, then who am I to tell her it doesn’t? I figure she will just eventually bounce back to the Jenny I know and love. The crazy, nympho Jenny who likes to test out Ben Wa balls in a sex toy store and who lets me put a remote control vibrator on her during our wedding ceremony.
“Do you, Jenny, take Drew to be your-”
“OH MY GOD! OH YES, YES, YES! OH JESUS YES!”
“Well, alright then. I think that means I can now pronounce you husband and-”
“KEEP GOING! OH GOD DON’T STOP!”
“Um, wife? Sorry, that’s all I’ve got.”
“Suddenly, after becoming buddy-buddy with Shirtless McFucker Face, she wants vanilla sex. She wants to just…do it. No bells and whistles, no live animals, no power strips for electrical safety precautions, and no elbow pads or helmets. I don’t understand,” I complain to the guys as we get to Jim’s car first and we all stop next to it. “She ruined me for vanilla sex. She ruined me and it was the best way to be ruined ever. And now she just expects me to go back to missionary position only with the lights off?”
Jim opens his car door and throws his bag in the backseat.
“Elbow pads and a helmet?” Carter asks.
“Oh man, best day ever. We went to a skateboard park and did it sliding down the ramp,” I tell him. “We had to keep stopping, getting up, and going to the top so we could slip back down again so it took a while, but it was still magical.”
Man, those were the days.
“Before we make any snap judgments, I think we need to meet this Jackson guy,” Jim explains.
“It’s Fuckson. Get it right,” I tell him sternly.
“Fine, Fuckson. I want to meet him and see for myself if he poses a threat.”
Jenny volunteered to coach Veronica’s peewee soccer team and they have their first game tomorrow afternoon. She must really be bored with work and the kids to sign up for something like that. Maybe that’s why she’s been so different lately. She’s bored and doesn’t have enough to do. Too bad she doesn’t know a thing about soccer, so I don’t think coaching is going to be as life fulfilling as she might think.
Veronica had told me she asked Fuckson if he would come watch her game and he said yes.
Fucking crapbag.
Of course she doesn’t call him Fuckson. She calls him her best friend ever. Well you know who my best friends are? My two fists. And they’re eager to meet Shit on a Stick’s face. Booyah!
The guys are already planning on coming to Veronica’s game, so I let them know they will get their chance to form an opinion the following afternoon. As we say our good-byes and pull out of the parking lot, I'm actually excited about this. My boys will meet this tool and realize what a loser he is and then we can all warn Jenny together. Like an intervention. A Fuck Face intervention. She’ll thank me by getting naked and our lives will go back to the way they should be.
~
“No! Wrong way, Alex! The touchdown is that way!” Jenny screams, pointing to the opposite end of the field where little Alex is currently running with the soccer ball.
“It’s a GOAL, Jenny. A GOAL! Touchdown is in football,” I tell her quickly as we both start yelling from the sidelines for Alex to turn around.
“Oh my God, this soccer thing is hard. Why are there so many rules for three and four year olds?” Jenny complains as she pulls one of the kids out of the game for a break and gets Veronica ready to take her place.
“Hey, Drew. I need to tell you something,” Jenny says as she hands Veronica her water bottle.
Oh shit, she’s going to tell me she’s leaving me. This can’t happen!
“Nope, no talking. This is a serious game. Pay attention.”
Jenny rolls her eyes at me and squats down to talk to Veronica.
“Okay, honey, remember, don’t take the ball away from your teammates. And if you get the ball, spike it all the way down the track,” Jenny explains to a confused Veronica.
“Or, you could kick it down the field,” I confirm for Veronica.
“Soccer sucks,” Veronica complains, folding her arms in front of her and refusing to move.
“I know, soccer totally sucks and it will probably make you gay. But there’s not much else to pick from when you’re three. Suck it up and go make me a goal!” I tell her as I grab her shoulders, turn her around to face the field and give her a little shove.
“Okay, seriously. You and I need to talk. I have something I need-”
The ref blows the whistle right next to Jenny for the kickoff, and she stops in the middle of her sentence to wince. There’s a flurry of kids all racing for the ball, hitting and shoving and pulling hair to get to it. They don’t care what team they’re playing for; the just want the ball. It’s soccer anarchy.
“NO, JUSTIN! WE DON’T BITE IN SOCCER!” Jenny yells to one of the kids.
“Get the ball, Veronica! Take that ball away and pitch it past the catcher!”
“You are majorly screwing up your sports talk. Pitch and catcher are for baseball,” I explain to her as the crowd erupts in cheers when someone makes a goal. No clue who made it or what team just got the point because all these little bastards look the same.
“But we get two points for a basket, right?” she asks as the kids come in for a water break.
“No, you get one point for a goal. Basket is in basketball.”
“But you told the kids earlier to dribble the ball down the field. I KNOW dribbling is basketball,” she argues.
“Dribbling is basketball and soccer.”
“Who stops someone from dribbling in basketball?” she asks.
“Defense.”
“Then who stops them from dribbling a ball in soccer?”
“The defender,” I tell her, wondering if this is going to turn into the worst “Who’s on First” moment in history.
“Whatever, as long as they don’t kill each other, I don’t care. Anyway, we really need to talk about something important and-”
“Shhhhhhhhh!” I tell her, putting my finger against her lips. “Game. We play. No talk.”
Fuck! I sound like a God dammed Neanderthal but I can’t help it. Whatever important thing she needs to tell me is probably going to be that she’s decided she wants a younger penis that likes to eat vanilla.
Luckily, something shiny distracts her. Unfortunately, that shiny thing is Fuckson, Mr. Vanilla himself.
Not to be confused with Vanilla Ice, obviously. If Mr. Ice walked over here right now, I would freak the fuck out! Best rapper since Milli Vanilli. You can’t blame it on the rain without first stopping, collaborating, and then listening. Genius.
He saunters (yes, I said saunters, shut it) over to us and hey, look at that. He’s wearing a fucking shirt for once.
“Jackson! You made it,” she says with a smile as she gives crap hole a quick hug before ushering the team back out on the field.
“OH MY GOSH YAAAAY! I’m so excited you’re here!” I squeal in sarcastic delight, clapping my hands together and jumping up and down.
Jenny gives me a dirty look before turning away to face Vaginal Itch Vanilla.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world! You’re doing a great job coaching. Drew, you didn’t play soccer in school, did you?” shit dick asks.
What the hell is that supposed to mean? I’m not good enough to play soccer? He doesn’t think I know how to play sports? Did this shit on a shingle just insult me?
“What, you don’t think I would totally kick ass at soccer?” I ask him, trying to rein in my anger before I’m kicked out of a peewee soccer game for bloodying someone’s face.
“Oh, no! I didn’t mean that at all! I just meant, with your size, I’m betting you played football or rugby. Some full contact sport where you could really kick ass and not just run around the field. You seem like you could play a mean game of football.”
He’s right. I CAN play a mean game of football.
“I was a total loser in school and didn’t play any sports. You must have been like the coolest guy in school. I can tell just by looking at you that everyone liked you. We’re you homecoming king or anything?” he asks curiously.
“Actually, yeah. I was homecoming king AND prom king. It was the first time in the history of the school that it happened. You should have seen how loud everyone cheered when they called my name. Dude, it was fucking amazing.”
What the fuck am I doing? I just called him 'dude'! And I’m sharing a memory with him. I don’t like this guy. I hate this guy. Do NOT be nice to him.
“Oh man, I wish I could have seen that! I bet you won everything,” he says. He stares at me for a few minutes, and I’m starting to feel uncomfortable when the next thing pops out of his mouth.
“Wait, Drew Parritt? Holy shit, I knew that name sounded familiar! You were first team, all-state during all four years of high school and got a scholarship but blew your knee out senior year. Oh my God! You’re a fucking legend!”
He knows me! He’s heard of me! I am a fucking legend!
“Shit, man! That last game of the season sucked major ass. I could have worked harder with the physical therapy and possibly been back on the field sophomore year of college but I was too busy with the ladies at that point,” I say with a laugh, quickly cutting it off and dropping my smile when I remember who the hell I’m talking to – Public Enemy Number One!
