Ball Peen Hammer

by Lauren Rowe

  “Well, that’s an insane leap of logic,” Colby says. “Except for the part about her living across the hall from him. That part’s not crazy. He’s right about that.”

  “Yeah, I guess he doesn’t want me trifling with her and leaving a mess for him to clean up after I leave.”

  “But you trifled with her, anyway, I take it?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  Colby chuckles.

  “Don’t laugh. I did my best, brah. I’ve been on the road all alone with the girl for a whole day and a half. And, tonight, out of nowhere, she went from cute and pretty to sexy as hell. I’m only human, Bee.”

  Colby chuckles again. “That remains to be confirmed after the autopsy.”

  “Whatever. I gotta go.”

  “No, no. Tell me the story. I’m listening.”

  I exhale. “So, okay, we were fooling around a few minutes ago in our motel room and then I grew a fucking conscience out of nowhere along with my boner—God knows how the fuck that tragedy happened—the conscience, I mean, not the boner—that’s certainly never happened to me before, that’s for sure—so I stopped before I’d even gotten a finger inside her ‘Adventure Time’ pajama bottoms and the—”

  “’Adventure Time’ pajamas?” Colby says, laughing.

  “I know, right? She’s such a fuckin’ cutie. She also tap-dances and makes documentaries. And then, on top of all that, come to find out she’s unexpectedly sexy as hell, too? A little animal, that one. Oh my God. Forget about ‘off-limits,’ son. That’s a concoction no man could resist.”

  “She sounds awesome.”

  “She is.” I exhale a ragged breath. “God, my balls hurt so fucking bad.”

  “So the sparks were there when you trifled with her?”

  “Oh, Jesus. A five-alarm fire.”

  “Then why’d you throw on the brakes? Sparks like that, who gives a shit what Dax wants? You never follow the Morgan Bro Code, anyway. Why start now?”

  “Are you insane? I always follow the Bro Code.”

  “Ha!”

  “I do.”

  “Okay, Peen. Sure, you do. But humor me: was there anything besides Daxy’s off-limits designation that made you grow a conscience along with your boner?”

  Goddamn, I hate Colby. Nothing ever gets past him. “Yeah,” I grumble. “She’s a relationship-girl. Never had a one-night stand.”

  “And?”

  “What do you mean ‘and’? There’s no ‘and’ to be had. This isn’t a girl who does casual sex—she’s said so herself—and that’s all that’s on the menu with me, so I grew a fucking conscience and put the brakes on.”

  Colby sighs. “Well, great job, dumbshit. You put the brakes on so she wouldn’t hate you and now she hates you for putting the brakes on.”

  “Yeah, I know. That irony hasn’t escaped me. Obviously, I shoulda just fucked her if she was gonna hate my guts anyway, right?”

  “That’s one way to look at it, I suppose—if you’re an idiot.”

  “Fuck, Bee. She thinks I was using her just to feed my ego—you know, like I was just stringing her along and not actually feeling it. And that couldn’t be further from the truth.”

  “You sure about that? Because it sure sounds like something you’d do, Keane.”

  I stop and think for a beat, still staring like a sniper at the bar across the street. There’s still no sign of Maddy coming out, thank God, though who knows what she’s doing inside that building. “Okay, I admit I started trifling with Maddy because of my ego,” I begin. “But then I was totally into it, lock, stock, barrel, and boner, I swear to God. And then I threw the brakes on because I realized I like her too much to hurt her feelings.”

  “Who are you and what have you done to Keane Morgan?”

  “I know. Trust me, that shit’s never happened to me before. But for some reason I’ll never fully understand, my desire not to hurt Maddy was stronger than my desire to fuck her—although, just to be clear, my desire to fuck her was, like, DEFCON-one.”

  “Holy shit, Keane.”

  “What?”

  “Do you hear yourself, dumbshit?”

  “What?”

  “It sure sounds like you’re talking about much more than a trifle to me.”

  My cheeks flush.

  “Explain to me why you don’t you want a relationship with this girl?” Colby asks. “She sure sounds like girlfriend material.”

  I scoff. “Now who’s the dumbshit? Ha! Let me count the ways why that’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever said. First off, I just met this girl, Colby—laid eyes on her for the first time yesterday morning. I’m not Zander, okay? I don’t leap into relationships on a wing and a prayer and simply hope the girl’s not gonna turn batshit crazy on me a week from now. Second off, regardless, there’s no such thing as ‘girlfriend material’ for me right now, no matter how awesome the girl happens to be.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Because Ball Peen Hammer can’t do his job when he’s got a girlfriend sitting at home, pissed off every time he doesn’t return a fucking text. Plus, fuck everything else I just said, it doesn’t matter anyway because this girl lives in L.A. Ain’t gonna happen, regardless. You know me. I can’t even pull my shit together enough to call Mom once a week—you really think I could keep a long-distance girlfriend happy?”

  “Not a fucking chance,” Colby says without hesitation.

  “Well, shit. You didn’t have to jump on board quite that fast,” I say. “You could have at least argued it’s possible I could do it.”

  “It’s not possible, Keane.”

  I sigh. “Yeah, I know.”

  Colby’s sigh matches my own. “Okay, the most important thing here is that you threw on the brakes with her because you didn’t wanna hurt her, right?”

  “Correct.”

  “Because you like her too much to make her hate your guts?”

  “Correct again.”

  “Okay, then why the fuck are you sitting here talking to me? Get your ass over to that bar and explain everything to her, top to bottom, or else she’s never gonna believe you weren’t just mind-fucking her to boost your ego or your stats.”

  “But what should I say? How should I spin it?”

  “Spin it? No, dumbshit. I just told you: tell her the whole truth. Everything. Even the off-limits thing. Make her understand you threw on the brakes ’cause you grew a conscience, not ’cause you were fucking with her.”

  “You think? Because I was thinking maybe I’d do the deny, deny, deny thing at first, just to get her to—”

  “Oh my God, you’re such a fucking idiot,” Colby blurts, cutting me off. “Keane, listen to me carefully. Do exactly what I just told you to do, okay? Don’t play games. Don’t leave any part of it out. Tell her the truth. Be sincere and sensitive and kind. Trust me.”

  There’s a beat as I consider my big brother’s advice.

  “Keaney, have I ever led you astray with women before?”

  “Never.” I sigh. “Okay, Bee. I’ll head over there now and tell her the whole, ridiculous truth and put my tail between my legs. Thanks, brah. You know I love you the most, right?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Good luck. Oh, hey, wait. One more thing: if you ever use my fishing rod again without asking me, I’ll pummel your face.”

  “Gotcha,” I say—but we both know I’m totally gonna use Colby’s fishing rod again without asking him.

  “Bye, Keaney. Keep me posted.”

  “Will do, big bro.”

  “Oh, hey, and call Mom, would you? You know she loves you the most, God knows why. Throw that poor woman a bone, Keane.”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll call Mom as soon as my busy schedule allows, I promise. But right now, I gotta go stop a spite-fuck in progress.”

  “Love you, fucktard. Good luck.”

  Chapter 33

  Keane

  Thursday, 11:57 p.m.

  I enter the small bar and scan the place, looking for Maddy. It’s packed to the gills with college
kids. Yep, just as I suspected, this dive bar ain’t just a dive bar, son. Despite ramshackle appearances, it’s an unlikely hot spot for Cal Poly nerds and hipsters. Which means pretty, witty, adorbsicles Maddy Milliken with those cute little freckles on her nose and sparkling Tootsie Pop eyes and goddamned gorgeous tits is gonna have her pick of pickles tonight, especially with the “please fuck me” sign she’s surely got stamped on her forehead.

  Okay, there she is. She’s on the far side of the room, sitting on a stool at the end of the bar, flanked by two dudes—and all of three of them are in the midst of guzzling beers like they’ve been best friends forever.

  Well, that was fucking fast.

  Jesus.

  What the hell happened to Shy, Introverted Maddy, the girl who supposedly can’t talk to a guy to save her life? So far, I haven’t seen hide nor hair of that fabled creature. She might as well be Big Foot.

  Maddy spots me across the crowded room and furrows her brow with disdain. She turns her gaze away from me to say something to the guy on her left, a hipster with, oh my shit, a man-bun (which, I must admit, the dude wears quite well). Maddy giggles and throws back her head like Man-Bun’s said something wildly hilarious, but we both know she’s laughing like that for my benefit, not his.

  I bite my lip, watching Maddy for a long moment. Man, she’s on fire, clearly hell-bent on showing me what I’m missing out on (as if I don’t already know). She pivots her head and nods at something the dude on her right is saying—a dude with short black hair and no discernible muscle mass—and he laughs.

  Okay, enough of this shit.

  I stride purposefully toward Maddy, just as a round of shots for the threesome arrives.

  “Hey, Maddy,” I say.

  “Oh, hello, Keane,” Maddy says primly.

  “Is this him?” Man-Bun asks, a smug expression on his hipster face.

  “The one and only.” She raises her shot glass toward me. “To you, Ball Peen Hammer. Congrats on successfully making the entire population of pickles throw themselves at you—leave no pickle behind, right?” She downs her shot and slams her empty glass on the bar in front of her, her cheeks blazing.

  Wow, Maddy’s never looked sexier than she does right this very minute. Holy fuck. Where the hell did this little femme fatale come from? “I need to talk to you, Maddy,” I say calmly, though my entire body feels like it’s about to explode.

  “Hey, everyone, we’re back,” a dude says into a microphone at the other end of the small bar, and we all reflexively direct our attention toward the voice. A band of three guys—guitar, bass, and drums—is standing on a tiny stage in the far back corner, poised to rock out—which they begin doing immediately, launching into “Are You Gonna Be My Girl” by Jet, a rocking song that instantly draws a handful of people to dance on a small clearing in front of the band.

  “I’m not in the mood to talk to you, Ball Peen Hammer,” Maddy grits out, drawing my attention away from the band. She turns and flashes Man-Bun an alluring smile, and right on cue, he leans in and whispers something to her. She nods, and, without even a glance at me, Man-Bun grabs her hand and pulls her past me to the small dance floor.

  Wow. Man-Bun’s got balls, I must say.

  Without hesitation, I stride to the dance floor and tap Man-Bun on the shoulder before the pair’s even gotten started dancing. “Hey, man,” I say. “I like your hair and that’s not sarcasm—but that’s the last nice thing I’m gonna say to you tonight. It’s time for you to walk away or this is gonna get ugly.”

  Man-Bun makes a face like I just took a shit on his shoes. “Hey, she told me what happened, man. You had your chance.”

  Aw, hell no. I take a step forward, a maniacal grin on my face, my muscles tensing.

  “Keane. Please,” Maddy says, a look of horror overtaking her face. “Stop it. I’m dancing with...” She pauses. “Him.”

  My grin twists into a satisfied smirk: Maddy doesn’t even know this asshat’s name. “She’s just dancing with you to piss me off,” I say to Man-Bun, and take a menacing step forward. “And guess what? It’s working.”

  “Hey, I don’t want any trouble,” Man-Bun says, holding up his hands and taking a step back.

  “No, wait,” Maddy says, touching Man-Bun’s arm.

  Man-Bun’s face is twisted with anxiety.

  I lean into the guy. “Hey, just so you know, I’ve got balls the color of my hair right now.” I flex every muscle on my body all at once. “And that’s making me really cranky.”

  “Uh, yeah, I think I’m gonna catch you later,” Man-Bun says to Maddy. “Nice to meet you.”

  And just that fast, he’s gone.

  “Real mature, Keane,” Maddy says through clenched teeth. She turns away from me, apparently intending to stomp off the dance floor—damn, I had no idea Maddy could be so feisty!—but I grab her arm and force her to stay put.

  “Just hear me out,” I say.

  “What’s there to talk about?” she says, her cheeks flushing. “I threw myself at you and you turned me down. Actions speak louder than words.”

  The song ends and the band begins rocking out to a rocking, fast-paced version of “Ain’t No Sunshine.”

  “Hey, they’re playing your song, Sunshine.”

  Maddy rolls her eyes.

  “Come on. It’s gotta be a sign. Just gimme this song to apologize to you and then, if you still hate me, I’ll take you back to the room, tuck you safely into bed, and get my own room.”

  Maddy pauses for a beat, apparently considering her response, and then she nods curtly.

  Despite the upbeat tempo of the song, I wrap my arms around her and pull her close for a slow dance, but she stiffens and pushes on my chest, forcing space between us like we’re at a middle-school dance.

  The band is so loud, I can barely hear myself think, so I lean into Maddy and place my lips on her ear. “Can you hear me?”

  She nods.

  “Okay, here’s the deal, Sunshine. I fucked up, big-time, but not in the way you think. Yeah, it bruised my ego you didn’t want me, I admit that, and then it bruised it even more you wanted my brother instead of me. So, if I’m being honest, I think I started giving you a lap dance because I wanted to make you want me. But then things went way beyond that for me. Maddy, I swear to God I don’t get hard when my ego gets bruised or when I’m trying to make someone want me. I only get hard when I want to fuck someone. And, believe me, I wanted to fuck you—still do. So fucking bad. If you could feel how much my balls hurt, you’d send me a get-well bouquet.” Her body softens in my arms, so I pull her a bit closer. I press my lips into her ear again. “I kissed you because I wanted to kiss you,” I say. “Every single thing that happened between us was real. I was Keane Morgan the whole time, okay? Ball Peen Hammer was long gone by the time I popped wood for you, I swear to fucking God. Maddy, I was totally feeling it.”

  At that, any remaining resistance in Maddy’s body melts away. She presses the full length of her body into mine and I wrap my arms around her back.

  She slides her mouth against my ear. “Then why’d you turn me down?”

  I pull back from her and put my fingertip under her chin. “Because you’re off-limits.”

  Maddy scrunches up her face, clearly not sure if she’s heard me correctly. “What?”

  I press my lips against her ear again. “I said you’re off-limits.”

  She leans back and flashes me a look of pure confusion, so I lean into her ear and explain every one of Dax’s stupid reasons for declaring Maddy off-limits.

  When I’m done talking, Maddy pulls back from me, looking utterly flabbergasted. “That’s ridiculous,” she shouts. “Dax has no right to declare who I can or can’t have sex with. I’ve never even met the guy. Screw Dax.”

  I lean into her ear again. “Yeah, I know. At this point, I don’t care about Dax’s bullshit. If that were the only thing standing in the way, I’d be bonin’ the fuck outta ya in the motel room this very second. But there’s an even bigger
reason why I threw on the brakes tonight.” I pause and exhale. “Maddy, I don’t want to fuck things up between you and me.”

  “What do you mean?” she shouts.

  “I don’t wanna fuck up our friendship.”

  At that, Maddy throws her head back. “Oh, dear God. Yet another ticket to the freakin’ friend zone. It’s my permanent goddamned address.” She tries to break free of my embrace, but I hold her firm and force her to listen to me.

  “No, no, Maddy. You’re misunderstanding. I’m not friend-zoning you like that. I’m not saying, ‘I’m just not into you.’ Okay? I just told you, I wanna bone the livin’ fuck outta ya, woman. I threw on the brakes because I realized something kind of crazy—or at least it was a batshit crazy thought for me: I don’t want to hurt you even more than I wanna fuck you. And, trust me, I really wanna fuck you.”

  Maddy scoffs. “Oh my God. Nice try. That’s the biggest bunch of bullshit I’ve ever heard in my life.”

  “No, Maddy, listen to me. I’m telling the truth.”

  The loud song ends and the band starts a new song, this one much more chill—“Come as You Are” by Nirvana—and, suddenly, talking is much easier without shouting.

  “Maddy, listen to me,” I say. “You’ve never had a one-night stand. You told me yourself you’re a relationship-type girl. If we’d gotten to bonin’, it would have been nothing but a one-night thing. A fling. And I realized when the heat of the moment was over and I went back home to do my Ball Peen Hammer thing and started hunting MILFs in the produce section and flakin’ out on hitting you back, you’d feel like total shit and maybe even hate me. And I don’t want that.”

  Maddy looks dumbfounded. “You’re telling me you refused to have sex with me tonight because you like me too much?”

  I consider that wording for a beat. Is that what I’m saying? Hmm. I guess so. Sounds kinda stupid when she puts it like that, but oh well. It’s the truth. “Yeah,” I reply sheepishly.

  Maddy looks into my face for a long beat but doesn’t speak. “This is insane.”

  I grab her and hug her to me, swaying with her to the new song. “Can we please just reset the clock and go back to the moment right before I offered to dance for you tonight?” I ask. “I’m an idiot sometimes, Maddy. Ask my brothers and sister—there’s a reason everyone calls me Peen.”