Can't Text This (Page 4)
He peers over his shoulder, eyes darting to the living room to make sure Xavie isn’t within earshot. When he turns back to me, he mimics a blow job.
I crack up laughing and shake my head no.
Then he sticks his tongue out, moving it around in a chaotic fashion. It’s disgusting and hilarious all at once.
“If that’s your version of what I think it is, I feel bad for Delia.”
He grins. “Nah, she loves it—but is that the ‘shit’ that happened?”
“No.” I lift my hand and wiggle my fingers his way.
“You fisted her?” His ass comes off the seat as he whisper-yells the question, now leaning over the counter just inches from my face, mouth slackened and eyes wide.
I shake my head in disbelief, laughing as I smash my hand to his face and push him away.
“I cannot believe I’m friends with you. No, you moron.”
“Oh.” He sits back down, brows squished together in concentration. Then it clicks. “Oh! Finger-banging, huh? That makes more sense than fisting on the first date.”
“Or fisting ever.”
He gets this wistful look about him. “I remember one time with Delia—”
“Nope. No. Not hearing about you two fisting.”
“No, not fisting. Fing—”
“Still not hearing it.”
He rolls his eyes. “Whatever. What’s going on then? Why are you bringing this up now? We’ve been at work together all week and you’re only just now talking about it. What gives?”
“Because I’ve woken up with a hard cock every fucking day since it happened. After she came all over me, she bailed.”
“And you’re all hung up because you didn’t get your rocks off?”
“I…well, shit.” I scratch at my week-old beard, knowing I should probably shave today. “That could be it, could be why I can’t get her out of my head.”
“She’s the one that got away.”
“In a sense.”
He narrows his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“She left her number.”
“And you haven’t called her because…”
“She doesn’t look like the girls you’re always after—so what? Big deal. Call her anyway.”
“Zach, dude, I’m telling you—”
“She’s different—yeah, I got that. How?”
“Monty is…innocent. She just has that look about her that says girl next door. She’s all buttoned up and…reserved.” I hold my tattooed arms out. “I’m clearly not.”
Zach stares hard at me, and I wonder what’s going through his head.
We both know I’m not one to go for the girls who have clearly spent more time hidden inside their safe little bedrooms than in bars.
He might be onto something here. Maybe the reason I can’t get Monty out of my head is because we didn’t finish what we started. Maybe it’s because I don’t know what she’d feel like beneath me and I need to know…for research purposes. Science and all that shit.
Yeah. That’s totally the reason.
“Get your phone out.”
My attention snaps to Zach and his hardened expression. “Huh?”
“Get your phone out. You’re texting her.”
“I am not.”
“You’re taking this Monty broad to Funkytown whether you like it or not. Phone—now.”
I shake my head. “No. She ran for a reason, dude.”
He gives me one of his famous all-knowing grins, and I want to slap the glasses off his nerdy, handsome face. “She gave you her number for a reason too.”
He’s not wrong.
I pull my phone from my pocket.
Me: Hey. This is Robbie. From Lola’s.
“Smooth,” Zach murmurs.
“Shut the fuck up.”
I carefully fold the paper towel I got her number off of and slide it back into my sleep pants. I don’t know why I want to keep it even though it’s now saved to my contacts, but I do. There’s something about it that feels so…old school. No one writes their number down anymore. It makes me a little sentimental.
We watch my phone like two insane people, agonizing every time the three familiar dots appear and disappear.
“Maybe if you had opened with something better, she’d have a responded already.”
“I already used my best one-liner on her when I met her.”
“What was that?” He gasps. “You didn’t use the angel one, did you? Because that one is horrible.”
“No. I asked her if she wanted to see my python.”
He nearly falls off the stool from laughing so hard, and I love that I didn’t have to explain it to him at all.
“Fucking genius,” he says, pulling his black frames off his face and wiping away the tears that have formed in his eyes. “Even I would have followed you into the bathroom after that one.”
I smirk. “I wouldn’t have to use any lines on you.”
“Only because I’m easy.”
“I’m sure Delia loves that.”
He snorts and stands, grabbing his plate and walking it over to the sink. He also rinses it and puts it in the dishwasher like the good little houseguest he is.
He tugs the fridge open and pulls out the leftover pizza from last night, flips open the lid, and shoves a slice in his piehole.
“Sure, help yourself, man.”
“Thanks.” Or at least that’s what I think he says through the mouthful of food.
My phone vibrates against the countertop and I freeze.
Then I spring into action. I snap it up and dance my fingers over the screen to enter my passcode, eager to see what she’s responded with.
I show Zach my phone and he shrugs.
“Beats the shit outta me, man.”
I quickly respond.
Me: I can’t tell if that’s a bad “oh” or a good “OH”.
Monty: It’s a surprised oh.
Me: A good surprise?
Monty: I think.
Me: I was going to call…
Monty: I would not have answered.
Monty: That sounded so rude. I’m sorry. I just meant I wouldn’t have answered because talking on the phone makes me want to vomit. I can’t handle it.
Me: I like that answer much more.
Monty: Me too.
“See, you just needed to break the ice. Now you two are chatting and you can throw in there how you wanna bang her and all that. It’ll be great.”
I stare blankly at him. “How in the hell did you ever get a girlfriend?”
“Ah, ah, ah—a live-in girlfriend.”
I briefly squeeze my eyes shut and try not to laugh at his enthusiasm. “Right. My bad.”
“It’s because of my ass. That’s what sealed the deal, really.”
“Dad, Uncle Zach said ass. You said I couldn’t say ass. Why does he get to say it?” He walks back into the kitchen and sets his plate on the counter, then rolls his sleeves up before getting to work rinsing his plate and putting it in the dishwasher. He knows I’m here to take care of him, but he has to clean up after himself. It’s teamwork.
Zach looks at me, eyes innocent and face red with held-in laughter.
“Get the hell outta here, man. Wait, why are you here anyway?”
He lifts a shoulder. “I was in the area. Met with that client at the ass—”
“Hey!” Xavie says, jumping off his stepstool and pretending to punch Zach’s stomach.
Zach pretends to take the hit and makes all the proper noises. He’s the best fake uncle ever.
“I meant butt, you little turd. Calm down.” The kid backs away but is ready to strike again if necessary. “Anyway, I met with him at the butt crack of dawn and knew you’d be up getting this rascal ready for day camp, so I thought I’d stop in and see him since it’s been a while.” He nods toward my phone. “Apparently that was a good idea. It’s like I had bestie intuition or some sh—stuff. Why, did you think I was here to see your ugly mug?” He scoffs. “Like I need more of you in my life.”
“Shut up,” I retort, then turn my attention back to my buzzing phone.
Monty: So, Robbie from Lola’s, why’d you text?
Me: I can’t stop thinking about you.
Monty: Wow. Straight to the point then.
Me: I’m not one to beat around the bush. Not my style.
Monty: Good to know.
Monty: If I’m being very honest, and even though I can feel my cheeks heating just thinking of admitting this to you, I’ve thought about you as well.
“Who you texting, Dad?”
“Yeah, none of yours.”
He props his hands on his hips and scrunches his face up. “That’s not nice.”
“Fine. It’s Santa Claus. Homeboy just told me if you don’t go brush your teeth and get dressed, you’ll be missing a present under the Christmas tree.”
He lifts a brow. “Santa’s old. He’ll forget by Christmas time. It’s July, Dad.”
“He might forget, but I won’t. Scoot!”