by Lauren Rowe
She doesn’t speak.
I exhale a long breath. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I stopped precisely because I don’t wanna hurt you. Obviously, I fucked it up, okay? But that’s honestly what I was thinking in my pea-brain.”
Maddy sighs. “I don’t know why, but I totally believe you.” She lays her cheek on my shoulder and her shoulders slump. “Thank you for being honest with me. I get it.”
I can’t understand the strange mix of emotions I’m feeling. Certainly, I’m relieved—but even more so I’m disappointed. I thought maybe she’d try to convince me I’m being stupid— that it wasn’t up to me to throw on the brakes. I thought maybe she’d say, “I’m a big girl, Keane! If I wanna have sex with a guy, that’s what I’m gonna do—even if the guy is you!”
I clear my throat. “So we’re good, then?” I ask.
“We’re good,” she says. “The clock has been officially reset. The lap dance never happened. Friendship without benefits resumed.”
I wrap my arms around her even more tightly and she presses her body into mine—and the minute I feel her gorgeous tits molding themselves against my chest, my cock begins to tingle with the initial stirrings of a boner. Fuck. I pull back slightly from her, not wanting to send the poor girl mixed signals.
“You know what? You totally made the right call,” she says. “We’re gonna be doing those videos together and building your brand. Plus, I’m already getting tons of ideas for my next film, and all of them seem to involve you as my star.” She sighs deeply. “I don’t wanna screw this up, either—whatever it is. You’re totally right: I’m not a ‘friends with benefits’ kind of girl. When I give my body to someone, I can’t help giving my heart, too. It’s just the way I’m wired and I know it. If we ‘boned the fuck outta each other’ that totally would have screwed things up between us.”
“Exactly,” I agree, even as a tsunami of disappointment is crashing down on me. “Would have been a huge mistake.”
“Definitely the right call,” she agrees. She steps out of our embrace and flashes me a wistful smile. “Thank you for unexpectedly being the sane one of the two of us.”
I try to smile back at her, but my lips feel tight. Damn. I’m surprised at how disappointed I feel. God, I wish Maddy would have insisted she could handle a one-nighter with me, no strings attached. If she’d done that, or at least attempted to do it, there’s no doubt in my mind I’d have yanked her arm out of its socket getting her back to the motel for a marathon bonin’ sesh. “Come on, man-eater,” I say, sliding my hand in hers. “Let’s go back to the room and sleep in our separate beds.”
“Let’s do a shot first,” she says. “Just a little more booze in my bloodstream, and I’ll surely wake up tomorrow morning not even remembering this whole thing happened.”
“Sounds like a plan.” We sidle up to the bar and I order a shot for her and a double for me. “So how the fuck did you hook up with those two dudes so fast?” I ask. “I couldn’t believe it when I walked in here and saw you flirting with them. Where the fuck is this shy, tongue-tied girl I keep hearing about?”
Maddy shrugs. “I was so pissed at you when I stormed in here, I totally forgot to be shy.”
“But what the fuck did you say to them?”
“I just bellied up to the bar to order a drink, and one of the guys said hello and asked me if I was alone. So I waggled my boobs at him and said, ‘Yeah. I just threw myself at a guy in my motel room across the street and he turned me down. So now I’m gonna get shit-faced drunk and drown my sorrows.’ And, just that fast, they cleared a stool for me and bought me a beer and a shot.”
“Wow. How magnanimous of them.”
“I thought so.”
“Here you go,” the bartender says, handing us our shots.
Maddy reaches for her purse.
“No, I got this, baby doll. I fucked up tonight. The least I can do is buy you a shot as part of my apology.”
“No argument here. I hereby accept this shot as your penance.”
We clink glasses and down our shots.
“Can we please solemnly agree never to speak of this horrific incident again?” Maddy says, putting her empty glass down. “This was pretty much the most humiliating thing that’s ever happened to me. Literally.”
My stomach clenches. “Of course,” I say. “I’m sorry.”
“Hey, I know what we should do,” she says brightly, clearly changing the subject. “Whaddaya say we go back to the room and watch that documentary about the spelling bee I was telling you about? That’s a surefire way to press the reset button on our friendship.”
I look at my watch. “It’s almost one. You’re not even gonna make it past the opening credits.”
“Sure I will.”
“Dude. You won’t. You look like a hobo in front of Seven-Eleven right now.”
“Bull-honkey,” Maddy says. “I’m totally sober.” But her words are beginning to link together unnaturally. She slides her hand into mine. “Come on, baby doll. Let’s go watch a documentary about speelllling and pretend tooonight never happened.”
“Okay, man-eater.” I kiss her on the cheek and my cock starts to tingle. “Good plan.”
We walk toward the front door of the bar.
“Hey, when we watch the movie,” Maddy says, resting her cheek on my shoulder. “How about we see who can spell more words: Drunk Maddy or Sober Keane?” She snorts.
“My money’s on Drunk Maddy,” I reply, squeezing her hand.
“Mine, too. I was being sardonic, Steve Sanders.”
I take a long, deep, steadying breath. “Cool.”
“K-e-w-l?”
“Of course.”
We walk hand-in-hand out of the bar into the chilly night.
This is good, right? Mission accomplished. Friendship intact.
This is an A-plus result. Right?
Because there’s nothing I’d rather do right now with sexy little Maddy Milliken than watch a documentary about a spelling bee. Nothing at all.
Unless, of course, you count the fact that all I wanna do is bone the fuck outta this girl, Lionel Richie style, to within an inch of her life. More than I wanna breathe.
Oh my fuck, my poor, poor balls.
Chapter 34
Maddy
Friday, 2:28 p.m.
Keane and I are back on the road again, traveling at full speed down the I-5, only about three hours away from my brand new home. And, as excited as I am about starting my new life in Los Angeles, with each mile we travel, a certain kind of melancholy is beginning to descend upon me.
Even if Keane and I remain friends after today, which I truly believe will be the case—and even if going forward Keane and I will still be in constant contact as we play our Ball Peen Hammer “video game” together and try to rack up points—I know in my heart things between us will never be the way they’ve been while we’ve been all alone in this bizarre little bubble. How could the quiet magic of my hatchback continue unscathed in the real world amidst friends and family and school and stripping? (Oh yeah, and manwhoring. Can’t forget about that.)
But, considering the situation, I just keep pushing those kinds of thoughts out of my mind. What’s the point in thinking about stuff like that? Like Keane said, even if he were up for a relationship, which he’s not, it’d be awfully hard to start one with a guy who lives more than a thousand miles away. Plus, I’m not sure I’d even want a relationship with Keane, anyway. I only just met the guy, after all—and, thank God, I’m nothing like my mother. When it comes to matters of the heart, I’m sensible. I don’t just leap into things and hope the feelings turn out to be real. So, anyway, I’ve just tried to enjoy these last hours of our unlikely bubble and not think about what’s going to happen after it’s popped.
I suppose my desire to savor every last drop of my time alone with Keane is the reason we unexpectedly wound up sleeping in the same bed again last night. There was no hanky panky, of course—we’d solemnly agreed at the bar last night t
hat bonin’ the fuck outta each other ain’t on the menu, son, and we both stuck to our agreement. But, still, after the opening credits of the spelling bee documentary had rolled last night and I’d started drifting off to sleep, when I felt Keane slowly extricating himself from my limbs and quietly attempting to move to the other bed, I clutched his arm fiercely, suddenly yearning to sleep with my body draped over his one last time. “Don’t go,” I whispered.
Keane hesitated, ever so slightly.
“Please,” I added.
At that, Keane wordlessly wrapped his strong arms around me and held me close. And the next thing I knew, I was fast asleep in his arms.
When I awoke this morning, Keane was already in the shower, so I have no idea if he woke up saluting the sun like the morning before—and, frankly, I don’t want to know. If Keane did wake up with a raging hard-on, I don’t want my pathetic brain interpreting that as some sort of sign Keane’s looking for a loophole to last night’s agreement; and if, on the other hand, Keane didn’t wake up with a raging woody after lying next to me in a bed, just the two of us, Lionel Richie style, well, I honestly don’t want to know that, either. Because, truth be told, despite what we said to each other in the bar, if Keane had made a move on me in the middle of the night, I would have stripped off my pajamas in a heartbeat and given myself to him.
I look over at Keane on the other side of the car. He’s quietly driving, looking deep in thought (or, well, as deep in thought as Keane Morgan ever gets).
“Hey, you wanna shoot another video?” I ask, figuring a Ball Peen Hammer video is the surest way to jumpstart normalcy between us.
“Sure,” Keane says. “I got endless bullshit for you, brah—you know that.”
I grab my phone out of my purse. “Endless bullshit is good,” I say, “because people are scarfing down your bullshit like Zander Shaw on a bag of white-cheddar popcorn, son.”
Keane laughs.
But, man, it’s no joke. When I checked the numbers on Ball Peen Hammer’s social media accounts this morning, I was absolutely blown away. There’s no doubt about it: the handsome and happy lad is going viral.
Keane glances at the camera. “Ready, Scorsese?”
“Hang on a sec, sweet meat.” I briefly fiddle with a setting on my phone. “Okay, action.”
Keane’s face lights up, as it always does when there’s a camera trained on him. “Hello, my handsome and happy lads in training.” He winks at me and I grin back. “And, hello, Maddy Behind the Camera. You’re looking awfully pretty today, I must say.”
“Hello, Ball Peen Hammer,” I say, looking at the mesmerizing image of Keane on my display screen: blue hair, blue eyes, and tight blue T-shirt showcasing the most beautiful arms I’ve ever felt wrapped around me. Oh, crap. I’m doing it again: thinking about that toe-curling orgasm Keane gave me last night. Oh, crap, now I’m thinking about that amazing kiss. I take a deep breath, forcing myself to concentrate on the present moment. “You look awfully blue today,” I say. “So what are you gonna teach us this fine afternoon, you handsome and happy lad, you?”
“Today, I’ve got a real treat for you,” Keane replies. “Believe it or not, I don’t feel like talking about sex today, so I’m gonna teach you lads a basic survival skill: how to survive and thrive during an argument with a chick.”
I snort. “Oh, this ought to be good.”
“Okay, listen up, lads. When you find yourself in an argument with a chick, follow this surefire strategy and you’ll come out smelling like a rose every time.” He pauses briefly for dramatic effect and then speaks slowly. “Remain calm in the face of her anger or outrage—absolutely do not lose your cool or start screaming at her because, first off, that’s just a dick-move and, second off, it shows weakness and chicks can sniff weakness like a shark smelling blood—and then calmly deny, deny, deny any and all wrongdoing until she either starts second-guessing herself or forgets what she’s mad about all together.”
I’m dumbfounded, as I so frequently am while making one of these videos with Keane. “Seriously?” I ask, incredulous. “That’s your technique for winning an argument with a woman? ‘Deny any and all wrongdoing’?”
“Correct.”
“You seriously think if you continually deny wrongdoing in an argument, a woman will start doubting her reason for being angry or maybe even forget why she’s upset in the first place?”
“Well, the most likely outcome is the self-doubting thing—women unfortunately do that shit a lot. Making her forget the reason she’s upset in the first place is a bit tougher to pull off, I admit—but if you flash your dimples while doing the denying, it should work like a charm over half the time.”
“Oh, so dimple-flashing is part of this brilliant strategy?”
Keane flashes his dimples at me. “Correct.”
“Well, gosh, then is a guy shit out of luck if he attempts this tactic over the phone?”
“Hmm. Good point. I never thought about that. Lads, Maddy Behind the Camera makes a good point. You best be usin’ FaceTime if you find yourself in a telephonic argument with a chick. Thanks for thinking of that, Maddy. See, guys? She’s definitely the one with the brains in this duo.”
“And, um, another kind of obvious thing, Ball Peen Hammer—I’m not sure if you’ve thought this part through, either—but you’re assuming the guy doing the denying has killer dimples in the first place, just like you.”
Keane shoots me his most beaming smile. “Aw, you think my dimples are ‘killer,’ Maddy Behind the Camera?”
For a half-second, I consider replying the way I’ve done in the past—by claiming I’ve used the word “killer” sardonically. But this time, that claim simply isn’t true.
“Yeah, I do,” I whisper earnestly, my chest tightening.
Keane smiles wistfully as he stares at the road ahead of us. To my surprise, he doesn’t hit me with a gloating Keane-ism like I’m expecting him to do.
I clear my throat. “What about just saying ‘I’m sorry’ to a chick after you’ve been a flaming asshole to her?” I say. “That seems like it would be a simpler tactic than all that denying, doesn’t it? At least if you’re dealing with a particularly hard-to-please chick? A nitpicky chick?”
Keane snorts. “Nitpicky chick.”
“A nitpicky chick-chick,” I say.
“E-i-e-i-o,” Keane says softly.
He glances away from the road to gaze at me with somber blue eyes.
“But, seriously, Ball Peen Hammer,” I say, my heart squeezing in my chest, “is there any situation when you’d advise a handsome and happy lad to give a woman a simple and sincere apology after he’s been a total dick to her?”
Keane shakes his head solemnly. “Don’t do it, brah. It’s a slippery slope. Then she’ll expect you to apologize every fucking time you’ve been a total dick, and that’s the kind of thing that’ll get a handsome and happy lad lash marks across his back in the distinct shape of a pussy-whip.”
I can’t believe my ears. I lower my camera, flabbergasted. “But... Keane. ‘Deny, deny, deny’ isn’t at all what you did with me last night. In fact, you did the exact opposite—you told me the truth and apologized with complete sincerity. You were absolutely wonderful last night.”
“I was?”
“Yeah.”
“Huh. Wait. Me?”
“Yes, you. You were amazing.”
“Wow.” Keane purses his lips and considers for a long moment. “Well, I think there’s a very good explanation for my erratic behavior last night: you’re not a chick—you’re Maddy. Normal rules don’t apply when it comes to you.”
My heart lurches. “I think what you did last night was extremely effective,” I say softly. “Maybe you should teach that to the handsome and happy lads.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. It’d be a helluva lot more respectful of the girl’s feelings than ‘deny, deny, deny.’ It’d be real.”
“Hmm.”
“Do me a favor, Keane, just for yucks:
do the video again, but this time, pretend you’re giving instruction about what a guy should do if he’s been a flaming asshole to Maddy Milliken. Don’t say ‘Maddy Milliken’ in the actual video—replace my name with ‘your girl’ or ‘a chick’ or whatever when you speak—but think it in your head while you talk. Will you do that for me?”
Keane shrugs. “I can certainly try.”
I train the camera on Keane’s heart-stopping blueness again. “Okay, Ball Peen Hammer. Action.”
Chapter 35
Maddy
Friday, 5:19 p.m.
“Maddy!” my sister shrieks, throwing her arms around me.
I clutch my sister to me. “Banana,” I whisper into her ear, my eyes welling up with tears.
Oh, good lord. Why the heck am I tearing up? Yes, I’m elated to finally be here to start my new life, and, yes, living with my sister is gonna be the bomb dot com. But I think my tears are flowing for another reason. When Keane and I stepped out of my car three minutes ago and began walking up the pathway toward my sister’s apartment—when I knew Keane and I would never again settle into my hatchback for another leg of our drive, just the two of us—I felt such an overwhelming sense of loss, I thought I was gonna cry. And now, it seems, at the sight of my sister’s sweet face, her big brown eyes peeking at me from behind her glasses, I’m doing just that.
Hannah pulls back from our embrace. “Aw, Madelyn.” She wipes my tears. “Tears of joy, I hope?”
I nod.
Hannah turns her attention to the force of nature to my right. “And you’re Keane, right? We met at the wedding.”
“Oh, yeah. Great to see you again.” Keane puts out his hand, but Hannah goes in for the hug.
“Thank you for taking such good care of my little sister,” Hannah says as she pulls out of her embrace with Keane.
“Oh, believe me, Hannah, it’s been my...” Keane begins, but he stops talking midsentence and starts anew. “I’ve loved every minute of hanging out with Mad Dog here,” he says.