Chapter 25
FRANKIE: Heyyyyy! How’s it going?!
MIA: OMG you had sex with him didn’t you?!?!?! It was great wasn’t it? Tell me everything.
FRANKIE: Um. There were mouths and hands and there was bare skin and a penis and a vagina involved but other than that it was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced and he’s ruined my life.
I’m so mad at him but I can’t feel mad at him anymore because my body is so happy so that just makes my brain want to be even more mad at him. But it can’t. If that makes sense.
MIA: It makes sense for you, yes. Awww, Frankie. I’m so happy. I knew you liked him. I knew his winky-face emoticon meant something.
FRANKIE:
MIA:
FRANKIE: I’m terrified. And I don’t know why. It’s so dumb.
MIA: You’re falling in love for the first time. It’s nice.
FRANKIE: It’s the worst thing I’ve ever experienced. I hate it.
MIA: I’m so happy for you.
FRANKIE: Stop saying that! It’s making my skin crawl.
FRANKIE: But thank you. Love you. You’re a really good friend. And all that other stuff that nice people say to other nice people IDK just thank you for always being so supportive.
MIA: OMG who are you?! You must have had SO many orgasms.
FRANKIE: Basically still having them. But I’m still terrified.
MILES: Nice going, Casanova. I hear you banged the hot nanny. Way to take the wrong brother’s advice.
OWEN: Trust me, I wasn’t taking Dylan’s advice, and thanks for your discretion, dickhead.
DYLAN: I was explaining to him how awesome I was with Sam, and he guessed the nanny-banging part, twatface.
OWEN: Let’s not refer to her as that and let’s not refer to the act we engaged in multiple amazing times as that.
MILES: Sorry. I hear you made sweet love to the hot lady you’re paying to look after your child who’s also a comedian who also happens to be your manager’s favorite niece.
OWEN: Shit. Did he say she’s his favorite?
MILES: I think she’s his only niece.
OWEN: Shit.
DYLAN: Nice going, spunktrumpet.
MILES: Good one.
DYLAN: Sir Patrick Stewart has been teaching me naughty British swears. He’s a delightfully entertaining cuntybollocks, that one.
MILES: Shut up.
OWEN: Shut up.
MILES: You need to be upfront with Martin about this, Owen. Sooner the better. I gotta go, Sir Brad Pitt’s calling.
DYLAN: Shut up.
OWEN: Shut up.
DYLAN: Hey. Just wanted to say that Frankie is really great. Like, really great. Sam obviously loves her, and she’s probably the coolest woman you’ve ever liked. And when we had brunch I could tell you like her a lot. So I hope it works out. Don’t fuck it up.
OWEN: Did you just have therapy or something?
DYLAN: Yeah. I’m feeling very open right now. You cuntpuddle.
OWEN: Love you, fuckwit.
DYLAN: Fuckety bye, boo.
OWEN: Hey. You look really cute sitting over there watching shark attacks with my son.
FRANKIE: Cute like Jerry Seinfeld, you mean?
OWEN: Cute like I want you to crawl across the floor and unzip me with your teeth.
FRANKIE: Maybe I’ll wait until Sam’s asleep.
OWEN: Up to you. Need to ask you something. I have to call Martin back. I feel like I should tell him about us. Thoughts?
FRANKIE: No. My first thought is NO. My next thought is FUCK NO. In conclusion: Please fuck no.
OWEN: So you don’t want me to tell him about us screwing is what you’re saying.
FRANKIE: First of all--why does he need to know that, and secondly I don’t want him to know that. Third, the word “us” makes me nervous.
OWEN: Can’t have “nervous” without “us.”
FRANKIE: It’s not you, it’s me.
OWEN: Oh I know.
FRANKIE:
OWEN: ;) I won’t tell Martin about how you’re obsessed with my big, hard cock if you don’t want me to.
FRANKIE: Fantastic. I won’t tell Entertainment Weekly about your nefarious edging technique.
OWEN: You should definitely tell them about how you rode my face in the back of a limo though.
FRANKIE: Hold that thought while I go grab your son a milk from the minibar.
OWEN: I’ll go into the bedroom to call Martin and not talk about how delicious your pussy is with him.
FRANKIE: Too far.
OWEN: ;)