After putting some cologne on, I examine myself in the mirror. The scratch under my eye looks better after my shower. My lip is puffy, and it’s turning me on. Even with the one-sided catfight I don’t look half bad. I can’t even tell I killed an entire bottle of scotch last night, or that the girl I brought home left in the middle of the night with my stash. I should probably shave, but I can hear Harley grumbling in the living room. I don’t look too long at my smile. It’s short-lived. Harley’s only here because of Dylan. She’ll get over him. Girls like Harley have futures that don’t involve guys like us. My future involves girls like Justine and Pink Heels. I don’t get more and I don’t expect it.
I ignore the negative feeling that truth produces and turn off the light.
When I emerge she looks at me. I love the way her scotch-colored eyes slide over my body and it pisses me off that I like it. Who am I? Dylan? Some douchebag that cares what women think about him? I snatch my wallet and keys off the kitchen counter and I can see the top of the scotch bottle poking over the lip as I do. My nightmares beg me for release. They’re getting worse for some reason. I can’t even pretend anymore. They eat me alive every time I fall asleep. The only thing that kept me from plummeting this time was waking up and seeing Harley in my room. If I could somehow proposition her to wake me up every time I had a nightmare I’d be good forever.
“You give any more thought about moving in with me?”
She turns back to the TV. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“Why not?” What is she talking about? That’s the best idea I’ve had since waking up. “Think about it, okay? I had a guy come over yesterday afternoon with a shovel on his back. A shovel Harley. What does he need a shovel for?”
She titters. “He probably wants to dig up the hundreds of panties you buried in the sand.”
“He’ll need more than one shovel then. You ready? I’m ready. Come on, babe. We’re going to dinner.” I run and jump onto the couch. “No promise of sex or booze. It’s like going to the dentist. It’s probably what’s best, but damn it, all I get is a toothbrush.”
She watches me, amused. “You have no idea what you’re doing do you?”
“No,” I admit, jumping down. I give her my hand and pull her up. “Do I at least get dessert?”
“I don’t know. You’re paying.” She smiles sweetly and walks around me.
I watch her hips sway as she walks. Her jean shorts could be tighter, I’d prefer them tighter, but they’re tight enough to show off her apple shaped ass. I love apples. They’re tart yet still sweet. I want a bite.
Stepping outside makes me nervous. There’s a group of girls painting shirts on the lawn I share with my neighbor. At least one of them has breathed in my atmosphere. She lived to talk about it so I guess everything’s fine. I pound down the stairs after Harley, hoping to get by without her noticing.
“Bach?”
I stop, almost running into Harley’s back. “What’s up?” I have to admit she’s cute in the sunshine. The last time I saw her she was sweaty and her lipstick was smeared all over her lips. I remember because she has this mole above her top lip that’s sexy as hell. “Debbie, right?”
“Yeah,” she says with a surprised lilt to her voice, as shocked as I am that I remembered her name.
I’m proud of myself.
Beside me, Harley makes a sound in the back of her throat.
Debbie looks at her fleetingly, a look of boredom crossing her features. I wonder why. She’s wrong. I’m more into Harley these past two weeks than I ever would be into Debbie again. Her lipstick was smeared for a reason. I smeared that shit.
“We’re having a black light party tonight. Want me to make you a shirt?”
“That depends. Are you going to take it off later? You promise to take it off and I’ll want it.”
“I took it off last time didn’t I?” Her eyes heat up,
I ignore the negative feeling that truth produces and turn off the light.
When I emerge she looks at me. I love the way her scotch-colored eyes slide over my body and it pisses me off that I like it. Who am I? Dylan? Some douchebag that cares what women think about him? I snatch my wallet and keys off the kitchen counter and I can see the top of the scotch bottle poking over the lip as I do. My nightmares beg me for release. They’re getting worse for some reason. I can’t even pretend anymore. They eat me alive every time I fall asleep. The only thing that kept me from plummeting this time was waking up and seeing Harley in my room. If I could somehow proposition her to wake me up every time I had a nightmare I’d be good forever.
“You give any more thought about moving in with me?”
She turns back to the TV. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“Why not?” What is she talking about? That’s the best idea I’ve had since waking up. “Think about it, okay? I had a guy come over yesterday afternoon with a shovel on his back. A shovel Harley. What does he need a shovel for?”
She titters. “He probably wants to dig up the hundreds of panties you buried in the sand.”
“He’ll need more than one shovel then. You ready? I’m ready. Come on, babe. We’re going to dinner.” I run and jump onto the couch. “No promise of sex or booze. It’s like going to the dentist. It’s probably what’s best, but damn it, all I get is a toothbrush.”
She watches me, amused. “You have no idea what you’re doing do you?”
“No,” I admit, jumping down. I give her my hand and pull her up. “Do I at least get dessert?”
“I don’t know. You’re paying.” She smiles sweetly and walks around me.
I watch her hips sway as she walks. Her jean shorts could be tighter, I’d prefer them tighter, but they’re tight enough to show off her apple shaped ass. I love apples. They’re tart yet still sweet. I want a bite.
Stepping outside makes me nervous. There’s a group of girls painting shirts on the lawn I share with my neighbor. At least one of them has breathed in my atmosphere. She lived to talk about it so I guess everything’s fine. I pound down the stairs after Harley, hoping to get by without her noticing.
“Bach?”
I stop, almost running into Harley’s back. “What’s up?” I have to admit she’s cute in the sunshine. The last time I saw her she was sweaty and her lipstick was smeared all over her lips. I remember because she has this mole above her top lip that’s sexy as hell. “Debbie, right?”
“Yeah,” she says with a surprised lilt to her voice, as shocked as I am that I remembered her name.
I’m proud of myself.
Beside me, Harley makes a sound in the back of her throat.
Debbie looks at her fleetingly, a look of boredom crossing her features. I wonder why. She’s wrong. I’m more into Harley these past two weeks than I ever would be into Debbie again. Her lipstick was smeared for a reason. I smeared that shit.
“We’re having a black light party tonight. Want me to make you a shirt?”
“That depends. Are you going to take it off later? You promise to take it off and I’ll want it.”
“I took it off last time didn’t I?” Her eyes heat up,
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