28. Matty
Chapter twenty-eight
Matty
“Five days, Sisi. It’s been five days, and I feel like someone cut a piece of me out and threw it away. How am I supposed to make it another nine days?”
Sisi stirred her coffee and blinked at me like she was staring at a child who’d just pooped his pants.
“Sweet pea, are we feeling a bit dramatic this morning?” she asked, licking the spoon clean while glaring at me. “No one cut off your precious wiener, though I might if you keep moping about. It’s exhausting being the positive one. I prefer playing the bitch.”
“And she’s much better in that role,” Elliot added, earning a spoon point and brow cock.
“I’m not being dramatic,” I insisted, hurling my napkin onto my plate like a football official throwing a flag for unsportsmanlike conduct. How dare they minimize my feelings and call me a drama queen in the same breath. I was not overly dramatic. I was a perfectly, understandably, well-proportioned level of drama. And my shoes matched the belt I wasn’t wearing, so I was also fabulous.
“Hon, you’re always being dramatic. This morning, you’re on stage at the Met.” Sisi waved to the waitress and pointed at her almost empty coffee cup.
Elliot sat back and crossed the beefiest arms in Atlanta. He didn’t even bother to hide the smirk that formed at Sisi’s words. That was annoying. He could’ve at least supported his brother as I fought against the Wicked Witch. Wasn’t that what Scarecrow was supposed to do? I mean, Elliot would be the Scarecrow to my Dorothy. He was tall and broad and needed the Wizard to give him a brain, bless his purdy heart.
“Fuck both of you with a cucumber,” I said, pooching out my lower lip and crossing my arms in defiance of Elliot’s arm cross.
Two can play it tough, big boy.
That was what I told myself, anyway.
“Have you talked with him since he left?” Elliot asked, finally venturing into supportive friend territory.
“Of course, we’ve talked. We talk every day, several times a day. He texts. I text. We call. We FaceTime.”
“Have you video fucked?” Sisi asked.
“Sisi!” I feigned offense, clutching my imaginary pearls as dramatically as possible. “I’m a lady.”
“Ladies have needs, and Amazon delivers all sorts of things in those anonymous brown packages.” She wiggled her brows. They were quite expressive for a breakfast gathering. I wanted to tell them to tone the fuck down, but it might’ve seemed odd, me talking to her eyebrows.
Maybe I was feeling dramatic.
A bit.
“I know it’s stupid and that we’ve only been dating for a few months, but I can’t stop thinking about him and wondering how he’s doing. His dad’s health is failing, and they’re making him an ambassador, and they’re meeting the King, and—”
“Whoa! Stop!” Sisi held up a palm. “You told us he was going to London to see his family. You never mentioned anything royal here.”
“Well, his father is becoming the Egyptian Ambassador to Great Britain. That calls for a royal audience to kiss the ring or receive the royal blessing or—I don’t know. For all I know, there’s a golden shower involved. You know, a good British anointing.”
“You’re fuckin’ sick, dude,” Elliot said, his gym-bro voice screaming louder than my queen.
I shrugged. “I don’t know what they do other than meeting King Charles and whoever is at court that day. Still, that’s amazing and stressful and all.”
“So, you should be excited for him, right?” Sisi asked. “Or are you jealous that he gets to play dress-up with the fake ruler of England while you clean patients’ pee off your shoes?”
“First of all, ew. No one has peed on my shoes . . . lately,” I said. “Second, I’m not jealous.”
Her eyes rolled harder than how Omar pounded me that first night we went all the way.
“Okay, fine. I’m a little jelly. It’s the King, for fuck’s sake. Who gets to meet royalty?”
“Finally, the truth,” Sisi said a little too triumphantly.
“But that’s not why I miss him,” I protested, crossing my arms again and turning sideways in my most dignified pouting position. “I love him, Sisi. I love him.”
Her tone softened as her hand reached across the table to grip my arm. “Aw, puddin’ pop, I know you do. It’s okay to miss him. We’re just teasing you.”
“Yeah,” Elliot grunted. “You’re being a limp pussy, but that’s okay. You’re a queen and all. You can act like lady parts if you want.”
“Elliot!” Sisi’s hand left my arm and slapped him hard.
Sisi jerked her hand back and shook it. “Ow! Elliot, fuck. Does your body have to be harder than the pavement outside?”
He grinned. “Yep. It’s part of the package.”
“No talking about men’s packages. My man is an ocean away, people!”
Sisi laughed.
Elliot grinned. “My package gets harder than concrete, too, just so ya know.”
“Elli!” I snapped loud enough to turn a few heads at the surrounding tables. I raised a palm and mouthed, “Sorry,” to them.
He shrugged again, his fucking grin growing wider. “Can’t help it if I’m a lean, mean, sexy-as-fuck machine. I could tell you all about the poles I climb. They’re pretty hard, too. And when I’m up there, way above the ground, all alone, sometimes I pop a boner. Have you ever gotten off that high off the ground? Fuck, it’s hot.”
“Aaaaaaaand there’s our boy,” Sisi said, rolling her eyes again.
“Did you just tell us you whacked off while straddling a light pole?” I asked, my mouth agape.
“They’re power poles, not light poles.” He waggled his brows as Sisi had done a moment before. “And speaking of power, picture it: I’m out in public where I could get caught, up in the air, there’s danger of falling, and the wind is whipping around me. Sometimes the poles sway up top. God, add all that together, and the Big O is—”
“I think we should get our check,” Sisi said to the waitress who appeared out of nowhere and had clearly been listening. She stared at Elliot like she wanted to ride his pole right there at our table. When the waitress stood there, dumbfounded, Sisi added, “Now, please!”
The waitress scurried away, and Elliot earned another slap. “You, behave. We’re here to support Mopey Smurf, not listen to your pole dancing stories.”
“Pole riding,” he corrected.
“Pole whacking? Jerking? Yeah, pole jerking,” I offered.
Sisi’s glare shifted from Elliot to me.
Elliot laughed.
I lifted my chin in defiance to her reign of terror.
“You should have more video sex,” Elliot said. “It’ll make you feel closer. Just don’t get the fruit of your loom all over your phone screen. That’s a bitch to clean. I had to replace my last one.”
Sisi and I both turned and stared at our big lug.
“What? I come a lot, and sometimes I like to see my jizz on a guy’s face. Phone screens don’t like that.”
“You . . . you came on your phone during . . . phone sex?” I was almost speechless.
Elliot nodded like it was the most logical thing in the world.
“I can’t take this anymore.” Sisi stood and shoved her chair back. “It’s your turn this week, Mopey Matty. Omar will be home soon, but if you need to come over and watch Netflix, you know where I live.”
“Just him?” Elliot asked. “No invite to snuggle for me, too?”
Sisi reached down and squeezed Elliot’s bicep. “Hon, I’m a straight woman, and you are meat on a stick. I know you’re gay as sin, but I’d want to rip your shirt off if you came over.”
“I could watch TV shirtless.” Elliot chuckled. “And you wouldn’t even have to return the favor. Trust me, you don’t have anything under there to make my, um, power pole light up.”
“See!” I pointed across the table. “ Light ! They should be called light poles.”
“I . . . I just can’t with you two.” Sisi pinched the bridge of her nose, then strode out of the diner.