He grumbles again. “I don’t need you talking back, not now.”
I whisper, “I’m not.”
He takes one deep breath and nudges the door open with his foot. “Donny?”
“In here,” a male voice calls out. “Thiago is taking the package downtown.”
Joey exhales and steps inside my apartment. The damage is… not as bad as I imagined. I mean, the glass is cracked but not shattered, my couch is still in the same position, and my Ikea lamp lays in pieces on the floor, but overall, it's not nearly as bad as I thought it would be. A win is a win.
“These guys fucked up your place,” Joey grumbles and I scan the room. The stack of messy papers, six socks, and three hoodies are on the couch. I don’t have the heart to tell him it’s mostly how I left it. His little perfectionist mind would explode.
I turn when I hear the sound of the fridge opening. Donny—with shorter and lighter hair than Joey’s—has his head in my food. “Why are your veggies and fruit in your refrigerator door?”
“So I don’t forget to eat them. It makes it easier to grab if I see them every time I open the door. Otherwise, they rot in the drawer.”
He whips his head around, barely missing the edge of the door. His mouth hangs open, and his goatee looks like a chin bib. “You are a freaking genius.” He slams the fridge door.
I bow, and on my way up, see the reflection of blood in my cracked TV. Oh, this was much rougher than I thought. I should ask questions, like how many guys were in here? Or did any of our guys get hurt?
My mouth dries. All of this is getting too real.
Joey nudges my back as I walk into my bedroom. It’s the exact mess I left it. I shut the door before he can follow me in. I want Joey to like me, and if he sees this, he might not want to deal with all of … me.
I shimmy out of my dress, and it flops to the floor. Tiny red marks linger from my evening. Standing naked in my room, with Joey on the other side of the door, I’m hit with a thousand feelings at once: fear, comfort, pleasure, pain… and this new feeling I can’t quite place. It’s hot, but in my heart. But not heartburn—to be clear.
Opening my drawer, I have a choice between my cute bra with a bow, but it digs into my ribs, or my ratty comfortable bra that’s been with me through war and heartbreak. But it’s faded and stained, not a second date sort of material. The cute bra wins.
I stuff my gym bag with a few pairs of leggings, a hoodie and a tank top. Casual sexy. That’s my vibe. I’m not trying to impress him. He’s pretty committed at this point. Right?
Or maybe he’ll get tired of my mess, my brain, everything that’s me and move on to someone more him. Pangs of jealousy stab me in the chest. We won’t fit for the long term.
I gather my things, grab my laptop and a cell phone charger, and return to the men in my living room. Donny is standing by my 3D printer, an apple sauce pouch hanging out of his mouth, and Joey sits on the arm of my couch, waiting.
Donny points to my most recent print. “What’s this?”
“It’s an ice cream pint holder.” I walk over and lift the metal bed off the plate, flexing the plate until I hear the snap.
“No!” Donny whispers, “don’t break it.”
I pull the penguin off the plate and hand it to him. “That’s how you get it off.” I refrain from making a joke about getting Joey off last night. Giggle. “Some of them have little drawers for sprinkles.” I grab an empty ice cream pint I had been using to test the measurements and slide it into the hole in the penguin's head. It looks like a giant coffee mug.
Donny’s eyes light up like I’ve introduced him to a whole new world. Great, now the Narrator Lady is singing that song in my head.
I take the pint holder out of his hand and put it down. “I made this one for Izzy. I didn’t have a file for a flamingo.”
Donny nods as he rubs his chin. “Yeah, those are her favorite dinosaurs. And that”—he points to the ice cream pint holder—“came from that?” He points to the 3D printer, and I nod. “Can you print anything?”
“I’m not printing you a gun.”
He flinches and looks confused. “What? No. But I like the way you think.” He ducks his head low and gently kicks the table. "This is gonna sound stupid, but can you print a dick?”
“What the hell, man?” Joey yells from across the room.
“Like a sex toy?” I ask. Where’s he going with this?
Donny waves his hands in front of his face, trying to dig himself out of the self-created hole. “No, like a little funny one. I want to hide it and bug the shit out of Thiago with it.”
“Oh.” I open the drawer under the printer and roughly twenty penises of various sizes and shapes rattle around. I pick the neon green one. “Like this?”
