Chapter 2 #2
The lake we’re at appears to be a tourist destination minus the tourists.
It’s the kind of place you’d see in a decades’ old brochure, but if it had been abandoned literally five seconds after the picture was taken.
Parking is on a slight hill that overlooks the lake.
There’s a boat rental shop in the distance, just a little ways down the hill.
It’s overgrown with weeds and discarded trash.
Inside the small booth, there’s what I’m assuming is a man’s corpse lying face down on the counter.
“Is that guy dead?”
“Fuck if I know. I found the place on Google.”
“He’s dead!” I shriek. “Someone killed him deader than a doornail, and now we’re going to wind up taking the fall, all because of you and your stupid fishing trip.
I’m not going down for this! Not again. Not after last time,” I insist. Johnny stares at me like I’m stupid, which, yeah, fair, but still.
Have I ever been framed for murder? No, but who cares? We live for a bit of drama.
“God dammit, I knew this would happen. All I wanted was one fuckin’ day of fun in the sun without your ass tagging along.”
“Johnny,” Bubba warns, but Johnny just shakes his head.
“No. I’ve had it. I didn’t sign up for any of this. I didn’t agree to share a bed with him. He kicks in his sleep, and it really hurts. It ain’t right.”
“I do no such thing.”
“You do,” Bubba agrees.
“Benedict Arnold!” I shout, not really sure who the hell Benedict Arnold is, but it sounds right. “You’re supposed to have my back.”
He squeezes his ass. “I do have your back. I’ll always have it, but I can’t defend you when you’re flat-out lying, baby. You kick like a drunken zebra. I’ve witnessed it with my own two legs.”
“You’re about to witness a whole lot more than that if you don’t punish Johnny. Make him stand in the corner or something.”
“We’re outside,” Johnny says. “There ain’t a damn corner to stand in. And I’m a grown-ass man, I ain't about to be reprimanded like a five-year-old.”
I give Johnny an unenthused round of applause. “Reprimanded. That’s a big word. Well done.”
“Stop making it sound like I’m stupid. I ain’t stupid.”
“Cry about it,” I say, then I look at Bubba. “I need you to construct a small dwelling. Don’t worry about its size, because we won’t need it long. Anything with a corner will suffice.”
His hand grips my ass, and my traitorous cock twitches in response. “You want me to make us a little house out here, Ezzy? You want us to have somewhere private where we can—”
“Finish that sentence and I’m putting battery acid in the bottle of lube he hides under the bed.”
“What the fuck did I do?” Johnny shouts. “I’m just standing here, bro.”
I nod. “And you’ll keep standing there once Bubba builds a small room around you.” Lifting my hand, I aim a judgmental finger. “Bubba’s going to make you stand in the corner all day long.”
“Fuck this,” Johnny scoffs, flinging his hands in the air like a maniac, walking away like my very presence is an affront to all he holds dear.
And there goes that ass. Fuck.
When I look back at Bubba, he’s got a disappointed expression on his face, but I don’t give a damn.
“Bonus points if the structure is directly in the sun. I want his skin to look like a lobster when we leave today,” Johnny just continues walking, lifting a hand and giving me the finger.
“Inbred prick.” There’s a sharp pain in my ass, and when I look down, my mouth hangs open, because Bubba’s hand is still on my ass. “You spanked me?”
“I did, and I’ll do it again if I need to, baby. I don’t know what’s gotten into you. You’re even more ornery than usual.”
“I’m not your fucking baby.”
I guess he’s decided to completely ignore my terribly valid point, because he just continues his little spiel.
“Is it because you’re mad I didn’t wake you up?
I wasn’t trying to exclude you. I just didn’t think you would want to come.
All we’re going to do is go fishing. I know you hate the great outdoors, so I didn’t want to upset you. ”
“It’s more upsetting waking up to realize you’re the last person to arrive at a party you were never even invited to. It’s cruel.”
“I was going to leave you a note.”
“A note’s not good enough. What if Johnny hid it from me before you guys left? I would’ve thought you just skipped town and left me all alone.”
“I would never,” he says insistently.
“Yeah, well, you almost did, and it’s not nice. Why did you even have to go to another lake? We could have stayed home.”
They ain’t got the kind of fish we’re trying to catch.”
“Just buy a damn fish at the store.” I lightly slap his chest. “Put me down.”
He recoils as if stricken. “You don’t want me to hold you? I thought you liked being carried around like this.”
“I do like being carried around, but I don’t like feeling excluded.” I poke him in the chest, because it’s right there, and I want to. “And if you ever pull something like this again, I will destroy you.”
“Fuck, you’re cute.”
I sigh. “Dammit, Bubs.” With the hand not holding my ass, he tugs my chin until I’m looking him in the eyes.
“I will never exclude you again. I’m sorry Ezra. Ask your spirit guide. Ask Barbara if I mean it. She knows everything. She’ll know what’s in my heart.”
My heart flutters in my chest. It could very well be the beginnings of acid reflux, or it could be something different entirely.
Something gentler. Nobody takes my psychic abilities seriously.
They all think I’m a joke, but the spirits are no laughing matter.
I know how absolutely ridiculous it must sound, hearing a tantalizing twink tell you he can communicate with the other side.
It's a goddamn disaster, but it’s not like I asked for this.
I didn’t set out to become the next Sylvia Crowne, though I wouldn’t be opposed to wearing the crown.
Syl—that’s what we in the industry call her—was a psychic powerhouse.
Her name is synonymous with the psychic community, almost as if she’s woven into the fabric of our DNA.
I use “we” loosely, because I’ve never actually met another psychic face to face.
I’ve chatted with a few on Facebook, but I’m what they call a “solo practitioner.” Or maybe that just applies to the Wiccan faith?
No matter the label, the end result is true. I have a gift.
“The spirits say you’re gonna put me down so I can go apologize to Johnny for being so mean to him.”
His eyes widen. “You’ll do that for me, baby?”
I tap his hand, and he slowly releases me. Once I’m on solid footing again, I nod. “I will, but I’m serious. I don’t like when you call me baby. It’s too—”
“Inevitable?” he asks, but it’s a stupid thing to say, so I thump him on the nose. “Thump me all you want, little man. We both know it’s true.”
“We know nothing of the sort.”
He snorts a laugh. “I’ll tell you what we know. We know you ain’t sorry for being a prick to Johnny, which means you’re up to something.”
“Up yours.” I whirl around and manage to make it half a step before Bubba rears back his arm and slaps my ass. I turn and gape at him.
“And we know how sexy that ass is going to look as it sinks down on my cock.”
I whimper. I don’t mean to, but it happens, and I can’t take it back. “Never gonna fuck you,” I whisper, but even I’m not buying it.
“Sure.” He smirks. “Baby.”
My cheeks are fucking scorching, so I rush away from the lakeshore, heading down the hill, toward the boat rental kiosk, or whatever the hell it’s called, where Johnny is talking to the man I assumed was dead earlier.
“Ah, fuck,” Johnny groans.
“Language,” the elderly man says, slowly lifting a pack of Camels and pulling out an unfiltered cigarette.
Dear God, does he have iron lungs? He lights the cigarette at a glacial speed, then takes a long, deep lungful of smoke.
“I won’t rent my luxurious boats to foul-mouthed youths.
If you want to go fishing on this lake, you’ll watch that filthy mouth of yours. ”
Johnny just sighs and nods, not wanting to make things worse, probably. He pays the man, mumbling something under his breath.
The man’s jaw clenches. “What the hell did you just say to me, young man?”
“I said, we’ll be on our best—”
I put my hand over his mouth. “He’s lying Uncle Daddy.
” Did Johnny’s lips just pucker against my palm?
The fuck? Shaking my head, I ignote Johnny’s stupid lips and focus on the task at hand.
“He said he’s gonna fuck me raw in your boat.
We’re going to bust fat loads in the lake, sir.
” When I pull my hand away, Johnny gapes at me, and the old man glares at him, his knuckles tightening around his pen.
“If you even think of ejaculating on these open waters, I'm coming in after you, and I'm coming in hot.”
“Promises, promises,” I sing-song, because life is a show, darling.
Johnny sighs and shakes his head. “I wouldn’t fuck him with your dick, bro,” he tells the man, but he doesn’t sound all that convincing, but maybe that’s just unwishful thinking on my part. “And I ain’t planning on doing none of that. I’m just here to fish with my best bro.”
“You’ll be fishing in the lake of fire with Satan himself if you don’t watch that dirty, deviant mouth of yours.” As he rants and raves about the youth of today, Johnny turns to walk away, heading toward a dock. There are two boats, one on each side of the pier.
Johnny Boyd may be the most annoying man on God’s green Earth, but that ass is a gift from the big guy himself, probably as an apology to the gays for all the hate we have thrown our way.
I follow him a few steps before calling out, “Johnny.”
He stops mid stride and looks over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
I fold my arms over my chest because my hands are shaking a little, and I don’t want him to see me rattled. “About earlier. I just wanted to say I’m really sorry.”