“Not my fault she didn’t get the memo I’m an asshole,” I say as we reach our table. Considering she knows who I am, I’m guessing she got the memo but didn’t care. I find most women don’t, which is really pathetic.
“You got a fever or something?” Mitch asks, stretching his arm toward me, his hand hovering in front of my forehead.
Dumping my tray on the table, I swat his hand away before dropping into my seat. “She wasn’t doing it for me.”
“She’s female and she’s got a pulse,” Topher adds, leaning back in his chair, eyeing me curiously. “That’s usually all it takes. What gives?”
I can’t get the woman from the bar out of my head is what gives.But I don’t tell my buddies that because I’m not the sharing-caring type and we’re not close. “I’m turning over a new leaf.” My friends crack up laughing, and my lips turn up at the corners. I flip them the bird. “Motherfucking assholes.”
They drop it, and Mitch starts giving us a blow-by-blow account of the girl he and Toph tag-teamed over the weekend.Did I mention my friends are assholes too?
“Why don’t I ever meet those kinds of girls?” Lance grumbles, shoving another mouthful of coronary-inducing pasta in his mouth.
I elbow him in the ribs, and he almost chokes. “It’s the jelly belly. I’m telling you,” I tease. Truth is, the dude is tall and lanky as a beanpole. I doubt there’s an inch of fat anywhere on his body despite his poor choice of diet.
Mitch flexes his biceps. “You need some guns, man. Chicks dig muscles.”
I scoff. “The only muscle you’re sporting is the one behind your pants, and even that’s not impressive.”
“Spout that shit at Cindy,” Mitch retorts, puffing out his chest. “She loved the muscle in my pants so much she rode it three times.”
“It’s Sandy,” Toph says, emitting a loud burp. “Chick’s name was Sandy.”
“Who cares?” Mitch says, shrugging. “Bitch fucked like a pro. That’s all I give a shit about.”
“How did I end up friends with a bunch of dicks?” Lance asks, finishing his pasta. “It’s no wonder Emma never wanted to come to Boston on weekends.”
“Your ex was too fucking selfish and lazy to make the effort to see you,” Toph replies, leaning his elbows on the table. “Good riddance to the bitch, I say.”
Lance drops his head to the table, and I caution the guys with a stern look. None of us understand it because we don’t do the girlfriend thing. But Lance is a relationship guy, through and through, and he’s heartbroken. Emma was his childhood sweetheart from back home, and he was devastated when she broke things off with him last year. Dude still isn’t over her, and I don’t think he’s even gotten someone else underneath him since.
“You need to get laid,” Mitch says. “You were too good for that prissy bitch.”
I roll my eyes because, honestly, the guy has a brain the size of a pea.
“Look on the bright side; at least your brother didn’t fuck her to get back at you,” I supply.
Lance looks up at me. His brow is scrunched in confusion. “Why the hell would you say that, man?”
Toph and Mitch lean forward, eyes alight with interest.
Fuck, why the hell did I blurt that?I suck at trying to cheer someone up. Now, I’ll have to fess up; otherwise, Lance will bust a ball worrying about his ex hooking up with his brother.
“I fucked my brother’s ex to get back at him,” I admit, lowering my voice so no one else hears.
Toph laughs, and Mitch leans across the table, punching me in the shoulder. “You’re my fucking idol, man. I worship at the altar of Kent Kennedy.”
“You seriously had sex with your brother’s ex?” Lance asks, failing to hide the disgust from his face or his tone.
I eyeball him. “You know I’m an asshole. Why does this surprise you?”
“Because that’s fucking low, even for you,” he says. “Which brother?”
“Keats.”
“Is that why you and Keaton don’t talk anymore?”
“Yes,” I lie.
