by Lauren Rowe
Another long beat.
“Well,” Keane finally says, his voice barely audible. “Good thing we both feel the same way, huh? Woulda sucked if you were crushing on me and I had to let you down easy.”
Chapter 27
Keane
Thursday, 10:16 p.m.
Oh, motherfucker.
Everything’s all fucked up.
I can’t think straight.
For the past two hours, as Maddy and I snuggled up together drinking beer and watching Magic Mike, I couldn’t concentrate worth a shit. I felt distracted the whole time—hyper-aware of every breath Maddy took, every time the top of Maddy’s hair rubbed against my jawline, every time even a square inch of Maddy’s bare skin brushed against mine. Oh, and the most distracting thing of all? The way Maddy’s gorgeous tits jiggled in her tank top every time she giggled at the movie (because, apparently, Channing Tatum’s hilarious, even when he’s dry-humping a stage in a red G-string).
The sound of the shower being turned on draws my attention away from the baseball game on TV and toward the bathroom door. Just behind that closed door, Maddy’s standing under a stream of hot water completely naked, her gorgeous tits slick and wet and turning pink. If I stripped off my clothes and wordlessly joined Maddy in that little shower, touching her naked body in ways it’s never been touched before, would she want Dax then?
Fuck.
I take a long swig of my beer and return my attention to the game. The pitcher steps up to the mound, looks to first base to freeze the runner, nods at his catcher, winds up and releases a curveball straight over the middle of home plate. A swing and a miss by the batter. Strike two. Nice pitch.
When I first figured out Maddy’s got a lady-boner for Dax, I was initially shocked, to be honest, just ’cause I didn’t see that one coming. And then, for a split-second, I was relieved because that meant my universal appeal to all available womankind was still intact. But then, out of nowhere, an unexpected third emotion gripped me and wouldn’t let go, an emotion that’s kept me in its iron claw ever since: jealousy.
I take a long swig of my beer.
Why the fuck does Maddy wanna bone my brother instead of me? Sure, Dax is better looking and smarter than me and, sure, he’s a fucking rock star, I get that—but I’m Ball Peen Hammer! Women hit on me right and left and sideways and backwards. I don’t care if I sound like a prick for saying that—it’s the goddamned truth. Females want to fuck me. You can set your clock to it. Which is why, fifteen months ago, when I suddenly found myself with no pitching arm, no college degree, no income, no dream, and no marketable skills—I said to myself, “Fuck it, might as well try to make a living doing the one thing I know how to do besides throwing a baseball.”
I take another sip of my beer and watch as the pitcher hurls his next pitch. It’s a sitting-duck fastball, total junk. Not surprisingly, the batter swings and connects, sending a rocket to the left side.
Yeah, I know Maddy’s not impressed by the whole male stripper thing—she’s made that abundantly clear, and, yeah, I know the fact that I was a pro athlete for a nanosecond is as unimpressive to her as my eight-pack. But do I really have nothing to make that chick pop a lady-boner? Not even my sense of humor, which chicks tell me all the time melts their panties every bit as much as my dimples? Speaking of which: why the fuck don’t my dimples make Maddy want to bone the fuck outta me? She’s the one who called them “killer,” after all, and I don’t believe for a second she was being sardonic when she said that.
The pitcher nods at his catcher and throws heat to the outside corner, making the batter look like a fool. Ka-bam, son!
I take another gulp of my beer.
If I were still pitching, I bet Maddy wouldn’t be able to resist me then, no matter what she says about jocks not being “her type.” Not that I want Maddy to not resist me, of course; I made a promise not to fuck her and I plan on keeping it. But, still. It would be nice if Maddy would behave like a normal, red-blooded female for a change and throw herself at me. Then at least I’d know the world was still spinning on its fucking axis.
Goddammit!
It bruises my balls to find out Maddy would rather fuck my brother than me. I taught my baby brother every goddamned thing he knows about women. I’m his Master Yoda! Sure, Dax is a rock star now, but growing up, who was the rock star? Me. I was an All-American, for fuck’s sake! Not to be a dick about it, but growing up, while Daxy sat in his room all by himself, teaching himself to play his goddamned guitar twenty-four seven, and writing depressing songs, and pining for a fucking “soul connection,” whatever the fuck that means, I was out in the world, pitching like a beast and getting laid six ways from Sunday by la crème de la crème of the hot-chick brigade. And what’d I do the minute I figured out the very best tricks for ringing the bell? I taught every last one of ’em to my baby brother. Of course, I did—because I’m a giver. And this is how he repays me?
And besides all that, it just plain irks me to find out Maddy’s wasting her time jonezing for a guy who’s not gonna give her a second glance. Even if Maddy were fair game for my brother (which she’s not, for all the same reasons Maddy’s off-limits to me), Dax still wouldn’t go for Maddy, not a chance, because my baby brother, unlike me, likes himself the edgy girls—the chicks with demons who feel the need to make a guy suffer to prove his worth. And straight-shooting, tap-dancing, “Adventure Time”-pajama-wearing Maddy Milliken wouldn’t know how to make a guy suffer if her life depended on it.
I lower my beer bottle from my lips, my mouth hanging open.
Oh my God.
I think I’m having what Zander would call an “epiphany.”
When Dax meets Maddy and she throws herself at him like a pickle hurling herself outta jar, he’s gonna say “no thanks” and send her on her merry way—and that’s gonna make her feel like shit.
I reflexively glance at the bathroom door, my pulse pounding in my ears.
I don’t want Maddy getting rejected and feeling like shit. Hell no. I want that awesome girl feeling like she could bag any hot dude she wants.
But, motherfucker, I absolutely don’t want Maddy not getting rejected by Dax. Just thinking about Dax putting the moves on Maddy makes me want to pummel the shit outta my brother’s pretty fucking face like Rocky banging on a side of beef. If any dude’s gonna put the moves on my honorary little sister, it’s sure as hell gonna be me.
Oh my fuck.
What the motherfuck am I thinking?
I glance at the bathroom door again, my heart racing. I can hear Maddy in the shower, singing “Stressed Out” at the top of her lungs. Dude. She’s singing my theme song. I’m so fucking stressed out, I feel like I’m gonna explode. Which means there’s only one thing for me to do: pick up the phone and call the one person who always knows exactly what to say to calm me the fuck down.
Chapter 28
Keane
“Hey, baby doll,” Zander says, answering my call. “You fuck Maddy Milliken yet?”
“Naw,” I say, foregoing any kind of formal greeting. “She’s been declared off-limits, remember?”
“I must admit I don’t see that as a substantial impediment.”
I exhale into the phone. “I’m in bad shape, sweet meat. I need your expert counsel.”
“Tell me all about it, pretty baby. I’ll be your shoulder to cry on.”
“Dude, I’m fucked up in the head.”
“Tell me.”
“I don’t want this chick, Zander, I really don’t. She’s not like anything I ever go for. First off, she’s super smart and you know I don’t dabble in smart girls. I mean, dude, get this: Maddy’s so smart, she hasn’t fallen for any of my tricks.”
“None of them?”
“Not a one.”
“You flash her the dimples?”
“A million times. With extra sauce.”
“You flash her the abs?”
“Of course. I even did the thing where I walk on my hands.”
“O
oph. How’d your elbow hold up?”
“It hurt, but I didn’t care.”
“And she didn’t go nuts over your abs?”
“She clapped and cheered like I was a seal at the circus.”
“But did your T-shirt ride up when you were upside down?”
“All the way up.”
“Impossible.”
“See? That’s what I’m telling you. The girl’s not human. I flashed that woman my entire eight-pack for, like, fifteen solid seconds—and then, check it, right after that, I flashed my dimples at full wattage, and then I sent her a subliminal message straight to the pleasure-center in her brain—and she practically yawned.”
“What?”
“And then, later that night, I came outta the bathroom in our motel room wearing nothing but motherfucking sweatpants.”
“And?”
“And she yelled at me to put my fucking shirt on!”
“What?” Zander makes a “mind officially blown” sound. “This makes no sense, Peenie.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. It makes no sense.”
“What is she?”
“A monster.” I groan in frustration.
“Hmmm. This is a very, very interesting turn of events.” Zander pauses for a very long moment. “But, just to be clear, you care about Maddy not falling for any of your tricks because... ?”
I glance at the bathroom door. Maddy’s still in the shower, singing “Stressed Out.”
“Because Maddy’s got girl parts and I’m me—which means she should want to fuck me. Period. I’m just following God’s master plan, trying to stave off the End of Days, brah. Simple as that.”
“But you’re not allowed to fuck her,” Zander says slowly, like he’s telling a preschooler not to eat his own poop.
“So what? Making women want to fuck me, even if they can’t have me, is what makes mathematical sense in the universe, kinda like how your arm span equals your height or a pound of feathers weighs the same as a pound of pennies.”
“Yeah, I know, sweet meat, but Maddy’s off-limits, remember?” Z says. “So this one time it’s probably for the best if this one girl doesn’t want to fuck your brains out, you see what I mean? Maybe under the circumstances, you should be glad Maddy’s not throwing herself at you the way other chicks do. See what I’m saying, Steve Sanders?”
I exhale with exasperation. “It’s a matter of principle,” I say. “Some things in the universe can’t be trifled with, son.”
Zander exhales but doesn’t say anything.
“What?” I ask.
“Oh, Peenie Weenie.”
“What?”
“You like her.”
“Well, yeah, I like her—as a friend. She’s super cool.”
“Mmm hmm,” Zander says.
“If you met Maddy you’d understand,” I say. “She’s nothing like the chicks I go for. She’s smart. Funny. Doesn’t play games. And, sure, she’s pretty—really pretty, actually—but she doesn’t look, you know, like a supermodel or anything—other than her tits; her tits are definitely supermodel-quality. But, other than that, she’s just this cute, sweet, adorable girl.”
“She’s adorbsicles, isn’t she?”
“Totally.”
“Ha! I totally called it! Remember? The minute she called you ‘jerksauce’ and followed it up with ‘dickweed,’ I said ‘Maddy Milliken’s adorbsicles.’”
“Yeah, you called it, brah. She’s definitely adorbsicles. A cutie patootie, I’d even say.”
“A cutie patootie? Holy shit. That’s next lev. She must be awfully cute.”
“She is. Best girl ever. But just as a friend, you know. An adorbsicles, cutie-patootie friend.” I pause. “But the thing is, Z...” I let out a long, tortured sigh. “I really, reeeeeeeally wanna fuck the living hell outta my adorbsicles, cutie-patootie friend.”
Zander laughs. “I knew it!”
“No, no, no. Not the way you think. I don’t want to fuck her because I wanna fuck her; I wanna fuck her because I’m not allowed to fuck her. ’Cause she’s forbidden fruit.” I grunt. “I know that’s the game my head is playing with me, but I can’t make it stop. I don’t actually wanna fuck Maddy; I wanna fuck the chick I can’t have. You follow me?”
“But you said she’s got nice tits.”
“Dude, they’re not nice; they’re gorgeous. Oh, shit, she’s got the most perfect tits you ever saw, Z—totally real, too.”
“Nice.”
“I know. I was beginning to think real ones had gone the way of the dodo bird. Took me a while to get to see hide nor hair of ’em, though, ’cause she was wearing this god-awful shirt all day yesterday that made her look like the fucking sun, but, yeah, I bought her a tank top to wear today so I’ve had a nice view of her tits all day long and, holy guacamole, baby doll, they’re perfect.”
“Excellent.”
“Not excellent. She’s off-limits, remember? What good are perfect tits to me if I can’t touch ’em or lick ’em or fuck ’em?”
“So touch ’em and lick ’em and fuck ’em.”
“I can’t! She’s off-limits!”
Zander exhales. “It’s a predicament, for sure.”
“And even if she weren’t off-limits, I still couldn’t touch ’em or lick ’em or fuck ’em, anyway. Not now.”
“Why not now?”
“Because I’ve gotten to know her, and now she’s not just some chick to me—she’s Maddy.”
“Oh, shit. She’s got a name? That’s fucked up.”
“Come on, Zander, you know what I mean.”
Zander laughs.
“I really like her, Z—maybe more than any chick I’ve ever met.”
“Oh, shit, Peenie. Are you serious?”
“Yeah. And she told me herself she’s a relationship-type girl—never even had a one-night stand, this girl. I can’t fuck a girl like that and never call her again—she’d hate my guts.”
“True.”
“And I most certainly can’t fuck her and call her again and really like her, either. That’s what Dr. Phil calls a relationship, son. And that’s not in the cards.”
“And why is that again?”
“Because I float like a butterfly, sting like a bee, do whatever handsome and happy thing I please.”
“Yeah, ‘whatever happy and handsome thing you please’ except fuck Maddy Milliken, apparently.”
“Fuck.” My shoulders droop. “I really wanna fuck her, Z.”
“Then fuck her.”
“I can’t. I don’t want her to hate me.”
Zander sighs with resignation. “Yeah, then you definitely can’t dabble with this one. Definitely off-limits.”
“That’s what I’ve been telling you. I can’t do it.” I grunt. “But I wanna do it, Z. I wanna fuck Maddy so fucking bad, my balls physically hurt.”
“Then fuck her.”
“Would you stop screwing with me? I need your sage counsel, Z. I’m dying here.” I let out a tortured moan. “Oh, God. My balls hurt so bad.”
Z exhales loudly, just as the shower water turns off in the bathroom. “Dude,” Z says. “Here’s the bottom line: You can’t fuck Maddy Milliken. First off, she doesn’t do casual sex and you know it. Second off, Daxy and Ryan said she’s off-limits. And, third off, you like having her as a friend. So, there you go. You one hundred percent cannot fuck this girl, no matter how gorgeous her tits might be.”
“There ain’t no ‘might’ about them tits, son. They’re smokin’ hot perfection.”
“You can’t fuck her, Peenie Weenie,” Z says firmly.
I sigh again. “Yeah, I know. I just needed to hear it out loud. I was starting to go a little bit insane.”
“That’s what always happens to you when your balls start hurting, baby doll. Ain’t no thang.”
“Yeah, I know.” I sigh yet again. “Thanks for the wise words, Z. You da best.”
“Glad I could be of service.”
I take a long swig of
my beer, considering. “It’s a moot point, anyway. I just found out she’s got the hots for Dax.”
“Aw, shit. That’s a monkey wrench, for sure.”
“Why is that a monkey wrench? We just agreed I’m not gonna fuck her, either way.”
“Yeah, but you’re you, Peenie. You were totally gonna fuck her, no matter what we just said.”
“Shit, Z. Don’t say that. Fuck. I was just getting my mind wrapped around not fucking her. Why you gotta mess with my head like that? My balls are about to explode.”
“Look, can I be straight with you, love muffin?” Zander asks.
“Always.”
“All that’s going on here is this: it’s killing you this girl doesn’t want to fuck you. I don’t know why she doesn’t, but she doesn’t. And that’s what’s got your balls hurting so bad, not her gorgeous tits.”
“You’re right. Why the fuck doesn’t she wanna fuck me, Z?”
“And add to that, she wants to fuck your brother? Your balls are probs a ten outta ten on the pain scale.”
“Eleven. I’m in so much pain, I wanna punch a fucking wall, not to mention my baby brother’s rock-star face.”
“Shit.”
“Shit,” I agree.
There’s a long pause, during which a hair dryer begins blaring from the bathroom, followed by Maddy singing “Blue Jeans” by Lana Del Rey at the top of her lungs.
“So how’s tricks for you?” I ask Zander, sighing with my agony. “Do you miss me something awful or what?”
Zander chuckles. “Hell no, I don’t miss you. Ain’t no time to miss my wifey when I’m fucking my future wife Lionel Richie style, son.”
“Things are going well with Daphne?”
Zander sighs wistfully. “I’m in love, baby doll.”
“Damn, that was fast. You sure you’re not just in lurve?”
“Nope, it’s straight-up love this time. I’m sure of it. This girl’s my primordial destiny.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you: what the fuck does that mean?”
“It means Daphne’s been fated for me since a time when humans were nothing more than little blobs of goo floating around in a primordial goop.”