She laughed at that, a sound that hit me right in the chub. “Oh, I don’t catch feelings. On account of my black heart and all.”
By the way she was looking at me, I didn’t believe her for a second. But if that was what she thought … well, like I’d said, I loved to win.
What Would Blanche Do?
I skipped down the stairs of our building the next morning, whistling “Yankee Doodle” with Veronica and Ramona in my wake.
“‘Yankee Doodle’? Really?” Ramona called after me.
I jumped off the last step and spun around, making a whistle show of calling it macaroni, complete with jazz hands.
Veronica laughed. “I still don’t get why Yankee Doodle would call the feather in his hat pasta.”
They caught up, and we started down the sidewalk, heading for Tonic — the tattoo parlor a couple of blocks away where we all worked.
“Well,” I said like the know-it-all I was, “that’s because macaroni used to be a term for fashionable.”
“How do you know shit like this?” Veronica asked.
I shrugged. “I just remember useless stuff like that. I hear it once and bam.” I tapped my temple. “Steel trap. Problem is, it doesn’t actually hold important information. Or numbers. Don’t make me try to remember numbers, or math. I cannot math.”
“We know, honey.” Ramona smiled and patted my arm. “We’ve all seen you try to split a check.”
I rolled my eyes.
She didn’t wait for further response. “So, are you going to tell us what happened last night? If I hadn’t woken up late, I would have alarm-clocked you so hard. I need answers.”
“I can’t say I’m bummed to have missed you jumping on my bed to harass me before I had to be up.”
Bodie crossed my mind — flashes of his hands and lips and smile and God, I was about him. I smiled to myself.
I’d left his house sore in all the right places and knees about as stable as quicksand. Once I’d floated home, I’d sunk into my bed and slept like I was dead — no dreams, nothing. I didn’t even think I’d rolled over once.
I hadn’t been nailed that well in a good long while. And when I’d woken, he had been on my mind.
I was infatuated. Smitten. Giddy and grinning and gone.
“Earth to Penny. Anybody in there?” Veronica pinched my arm.
“Ow!” I rubbed the spot and stuck my tongue out at her.
“You deserve that. So much for a wingwoman. Your ass barely hit the seat before you disappeared with Blondie.”
I wrinkled my nose, but I was smiling. “Yeah, sorry. And you’re never going to believe this; I fucking know him.”
Ramona’s brow quirked. “Well, I mean, that was the guy from the ice cream shop yesterday, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, but also, we went to high school together. I didn’t even recognize him — he looks completely different.”
“I’d imagine so if you didn’t recognize him,” Veronica said. “No way Blondie wouldn’t have made it onto your radar.”
“Right? The guy went from Chris Pratt in Parks and Rec, dumping Skittles into his mouth, to Chris Pratt in Guardians of the Galaxy, shirtless and ripped and orange and all mad because they stole his Walkman. Except it’s even less obvious than that. Like, he had glasses and braces and … I don’t even know, man. He was hidden inside of there that whole time. I remembered his eyes the most. Is that weird?”
“Not at all,” Ramona answered. “When did you figure it out?”
“When his face was between my legs.”
They both busted out laughing.
“Just kidding. It was actually post-face-between-the-legs.”
Ramona frowned a little. “He wasn’t, like … stalking you or anything, right?”
“I don’t think so,” I said, considering it again. “No, I mean, he seemed just as surprised to see me as I was to see him. But, man, let me tell you, the dude went downtown like it was his only purpose in life.”
Veronica sighed. “I need to find a boyfriend.”
“No, you need to find a fuck boy,” I corrected. “Anyway, his name is Bodie, and he has a twin brother named Jude. Maybe his pussy-eating is a genetic trait.” I waggled my brows.
She laughed and shoved me in the arm. “Ugh, you.”
I just smiled.
“Are you going to see him again?” Ramona asked hopefully.
“I want to.” I felt high, my body still humming and purring his name. “Guys, he kinda blew my mind. I can’t believe I went to high school with him.”
“So, what’s the story?” Veronica stuffed her hands into the pockets of her black romper, her heels clicking on the sidewalk. Hair in a French twist, high on top, she looked totally elegant and gorgeous and classic, offset by full sleeves, a septum ring, and gauges like mine. I swear, she was the most badass of us all and the least emotionally available.
“Well, he was friends with Rodney—”
A collective groan passed over the peanut gallery of two.