Chapter 7 #2
That little fluttery thing is happening in my chest. It’s not heartburn. Maybe it’s the weed? Is this normal?
Yeah, me too.
Good Guy
Night, Sophie.
I freeze when I see my name. Partially due to panic. And partially because my clit is suddenly throbbing. A stranger typing my name shouldn’t be erotic. But it is. What the fuck? Maybe I’ve been reading too much dark romance, and it’s warped me.
How do you know my name?
Good Guy
Your profile. Is it okay if I call you Sophie? I felt like the insta-friendship had morphed into actual friendship. I’m so sorry if I overstepped. I didn’t mean to scare you.
Goddammit, I’m never smoking again. I can’t think straight. Of course, he knew my name. My profile reads:
Sophie she/her
I’m an idiot. And I tell him so.
Sorry, I’m an idiot. The friendship is/was both insta and actual, of course, you can call me Sophie.
I feel like the polite thing to do is ask your name, but is it okay if I want to call you Good Guy for now?
I just went through a breakup, and I feel like I need the reminder that good guys still exist.
Good Guy
Better he’s your past and not your future if he wasn’t good for you.
I read it twice before I respond. He’s right.
I think future me is going to realize this was a wake-up call in many ways. Present me is still a little lost.
Good Guy
I’m sorry if you’re sad. Breakups are never fun.
It’s hard to nail down an exact emotion because it feels like they’ve all been dumped into a washing machine that agitated aggressively, rinsed briefly, then launched into one helluva spin cycle, but sad, strangely, is not one of them.
Good Guy
If grief is a washing machine, then the spin cycle is the final stage. The storm before the calm.
I needed that reminder. Unless there’s a second rinse cycle. Because MORE spinning.
Good Guy
What kind of stain did he leave? Are we talking grass? Red wine?
Shit.
Good Guy
Shit stains only require a single rinse. Hang in, you’re almost there. Seriously, I know we just met, but I’m always here if you need to talk.
Are you a therapist? Or do you just play one on TV? You’re good at this.
Good Guy
Far from it. Just a guy who’s been through some stuff. Same as everyone else.
Well, thanks. I’m really going to let you go now so you can get some rest and I can sleep off Bruce Banner. Until tomorrow, night, Good Guy. Sleep well.
Good Guy
You too. x
x? I squint at the screen like the issue is clarity, like I can’t read it properly due to my Oreo-smudged screen or bloodshot eyes.
That can’t be a kiss though, can it? His finger must’ve slipped, touch screens are sensitive.
Or maybe he’s lived abroad. Don’t other countries throw around little kisses indiscriminately whenever they sign off?
I startle awake when a disembodied voice in the room says, “It looks like somebody had an interesting night.”
Blinking into consciousness, I mumble, “What?” as Lola’s face comes into focus two inches from mine.
All my senses are registering is a slightly crooked incisor and boozy breath. She stands, tosses a few pillows on the floor, and slides onto the bed next to me. “I should’ve stayed home; it looks like you had a better time than I did.”
When I swipe at the drool on my cheek, my skin feels tight and rough. “When did I transform into a lizard?”
Her clasped hands resting atop her stomach begin to vibrate before the giggle can generate any sound. “You fell asleep with a mask on. There’s green shit all over your face and the pillow. Well, it’s on one of a dozen or so pillows you’ve amassed here.”
I scratch my cheek because it itches now. “I wanted to sleep on a cloud.”
“Undoubtedly.” She shakes her head. “I warned you; Bruce Banner will knock you on your ass.”
I shuffle to the bathroom and, with a wet washcloth, scour the rest of the mask off. I must’ve put it on during the karaoke set and forgot about it. When I return to my bedroom, there’s an empty miniature bottle of tequila on the nightstand, and she’s eating my leftover Oreo shells.
“It’s like we were paired as siblings solely so we can share an Oreo, and both get what we want out of it.”
“Bless you and your defective taste buds. How’d it go with the Witcher?”
I clear the rest of the pillows off the bed and take my place next to her.
“Mmm…” It’s indecisive. “I don’t think I’ll see him again.”
“Really? No connection?” I ask, surprised.
We’re both lying on our backs looking at the ceiling, but she tips her head and the smirk tells me all I need to know. “That wasn’t the problem. We left Chilis after apps and drinks and went back to his place. The sex was incredible.” She flashes a peace sign. “The things he can do with these two—”
I grab a cookie from the package and interrupt her. “So, why don’t you want to see him again?”
I offer the wafers to her after I scrape out the filling.
“I don’t know.” She rolls onto her side so she can face me, tucks one arm under the pillow, and accepts my discards. “We were talking afterward, and it felt, I don’t know, shallow? Surface?”
I remain on my back but roll my neck to look at her.
“There was no connection after the connection?” I curl my fingers and thumb together and poke a finger through, hoping the immature gesture will make her laugh. It does.
“Exactly.” When the laughter fades out, she asks, “Speaking of connections, did you message Good Guy?”
I cover my face with my hands. And then spread my fingers so I can peek out.
She grasps my wrist and pulls my hand away. “You did! What happened? It’s been days since you’ve given me an update.”
I hand her my cell. “The details are a little fuzzy. Someone gave me drugs tonight.”
“I heard the unspoken thank you very much, so you’re welcome.” She types in my passcode, navigates to the messages, and swipes down to backtrack through our thread. Then she swipes again. And again. “What the hell?” Her voice rises an octave. “You’ve been holding out on me.”
She begins reading and when she lets out a laugh, I groan.
“The impressive cock doesn’t hurt either?” she questions.
I groan again and scoot over so I can share her pillow, and we read the screen together. “He posted a photo of his uncle’s rooster, and I commented. I actually typed the words nice cock.” I can’t even say it without sounding mortified.
“This is priceless.” She bites her lips together from the inside because she’s trying to contain a smile, but her dimples pop with an I told you so.
“Shut up,” I whisper. It’s bad enough re-reading this with her, I don’t need my embarrassment stoked further.
She’s gleeful as she continues to scroll and read. “Good Guy is funny, Soph.”
“He is,” I agree.
“He’s funny the same way you are. He knows his dough is tasty and doesn’t have to fit into a cookie cutter,” she says.
“What does that even mean?” I ask, laughing. I know I’m high, but that makes no sense.
“You know. When you roll out dough there’s all this potential, but then you bake and eat only what fits into the cookie cutter.
That’s what the world gets—the cookie cutter.
But what about all the bits that are left behind and discarded because they didn’t fit?
Me, Benji, and Mabel know them, but the rest of the world doesn’t, and they taste fucking amazing too.
” She hesitates and yawns. “Sorry, it’s been a long day, and I’ve got baking on the brain.
” Baking is a new hobby that she’s been fixating on, and now it’s a metaphor for life, I guess.
“Long story short, all of you is tasty. Let him, hell, let everyone, see it all. You deserve that.”
“I like him,” I admit with a smile.
She stares at me for a few seconds and then laughs a little. “Do you even realize how cute you are right now? You’re flirting with a stranger online.”
“Are we? I can’t tell. I mean, maybe a little at first, but I think we’re just supposed to be friends. He’s easy to talk to. I like easy.” Lola is the only one I can be this honest with.
She elbows me affectionately and encouragingly says, “You do you, but flirting with Good Guy could be fun. He’s more like you than anyone you’ve dated. I still have a good feeling about him.”
“Maybe he’s my future bestie who’s also going to be my kidney donor?” I venture.
She shakes her head and looks incredulous. “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m your bestie and kidney donor. Stop trying to replace me, bitch.” She playfully hits me with her pillow before she scoots off the bed. “I need to go shower the Witcher off and get some sleep.”
“Eww. Love you, Lo.”
“Love you more.”