And she is my best friend and biggest cheerleader. (Besides my mom, that is.) I owe it to her to give her some information.
“I had to help him shower.”
Okay, that was kind of, sort of evil. It’s going to get her all excited.
“You what?” She practically screams it.
“I helped him shower.”
“Wait one gosh-dang minute…” She’s got both hands wrapped around her ponytail and her foot’s-a-tapping. “You saw him naked?” Now she’s jumping up and down. “You saw freaking Lucky Ganetti naked. Didn’t you?” She’s stopped moving. Frozen in time. Waiting on my answer.
I can’t leave her hanging…
Well, I can… for a minute or two.
“That all depends.”
“On what?” she hisses. “Spill, bitch. Spill right this damn minute.”
“Oh, all right.” I move into the living room and sit on our loveseat. Crossing my legs, I place my palms on my knees.
“Fucking speak,” she shouts. “I swear to God, Becks, I’m going to—”
“Yes!” I shout. “I saw him naked.”
“And?” she plops down on the floor in front of me. “How big is he?”
“Compared to what?” That’s a serious question. She knows I’m a virgin. I confessed one night over a bottle of cheap wine.
Holding up one finger, she jumps up, runs to the kitchen, and is back in seconds. “Let’s compare.” She clicks around on the phone and then holds it out to me. I see a screen full of penises. About twenty of them. All shapes and sizes. My mouth is suddenly dry.
“You want me to tell you which one looks like Lucky’s?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t.” I hold her phone out to her.
“Why the hell not? I told you about all of my—”
Hookups. That’s what she means. She hasn’t told me about her boyfriend’s, although he’s a dick so I really don’t want to know about his, well, dick.
“You’re not going to tell me?”
“I can’t.” I nod at the phone. “Because Lucky’s was…” Oh, God. I can’t say it.
“His was what?” Deena’s practically on top of me now. “What?” she screeches.
“His was hard. Pointing up.” I use my finger to demonstrate.
Deena’s voice changes. It almost sounds reverent. “He had a hard-on?”
“Um. Yes?”
“Hold on.” She types away at her phone, then hands it to me again. I know what’s coming, and I’m afraid. Very afraid. “Here.”
Knowing I’m not going to get beyond this until she knows, I grasp her phone and look at the images of at least twenty erect penises. “Wow. So much variety.” Then I snicker, because, well, I’m nervous and embarrassed and an idiot. Finally, I spot one that seems accurate, but it feels wrong to tell her––like I’m giving up one of Lucky’s secrets or something. Looking over my shoulder, I shrug. “I’m not seeing anything.”
“Oh, you’re so full of it.” She grabs the phone and points at one. I look down at the penis in question and shrug. “Maybe.”
