It gives me a juvenile sense of pleasure to know Ethan hit him. But he’s still getting paid back from me too.
ASSHOLE: Real fucking funny. I want to forget that day ever happened. Can we meet somewhere?
ME: The person you’re trying to reach has decided you’re dead to her. Now kindly fuck off. The playground is waiting for you.
ASSHOLE: I deserved that. But it’s the last shot I’ll take before tracking you down. I’m serious.
ME: Go. Away.
ASSHOLE: I’d rather go down…
ME: Now is so not the time to talk dirty to me.
ASSHOLE: Go with your strengths when you’re down in the ninth inning.
ME: Baseball metaphors or analogies or whatever will deduct even more points. As of now, I’m done. Keep calling, and I’ll give Berta your address.
Like a brave girl, I turn my phone off, groaning when my head thuds around like a pitiful balloon with rocks inside it.
After that, I spend the day taking a bath, watching old movies, and maybe fantasizing about shoving Ethan’s head in a hospital toilet. And I might also abuse that picture of him in a suit while I’m using my Magic Wand.
Didn’t say I was a saint.
By six, my head is seriously killing me, and my body aches.
I question if those rocks in my head are shaking or if someone is knocking on my door. Whimpering, I drag myself off the couch, and Allie is waiting for me when I open the door. She’s also holding roses in a really pretty vase.
“You shouldn’t have,” I tell her dryly, even though my voice sounds off.
“You look like shit,” she replies, eyeing me. “Are you sick?”
She walks in, and I shut the door behind her, collapsing against it.
“No. What’s that?” I ask her, looking at a suspiciously pretty present that she’s putting beside the roses.
“I have no idea. I rolled up just as the delivery guy did, and I signed for all this. I didn’t know you were dating anyone.”
Groaning, I snatch the pretty present, and glare at the card on the roses that says: Look, I can be sweet. I can also be your favorite asshole.
I’d laugh if it didn’t hurt to try.
“I’m not dating anyone. But I’m too awesome not to have admirers,” I say, sniffing and wiping my nose at the same time and killing that witty retort with my utter grossness.
Her lips twitch, and I wink while sluggishly moving back toward the living room.
“Yeah, you look awesome right now,” she says with a coy grin.
“You should feel what I’m feeling. I’m starting to think that dream I had about riding hippos across the arctic tundra before they trampled me later on was real.”
She laughs, and the sound grates on my fragile nerves. I’m ill, tired, and sick. Motherfucker, I’m sick. Damn those jackasses for finally making me sick.
I rip open the present, too curious not to find out what it is. Not that I’ll keep it. I sure as hell don’t want to owe Ethan Noles anything.
“Why is your vibrator out?” Allie asks, coughing on air as she side steps my Magic Wand.
I shrug, feeling completely shameless. “Don’t you make your little lady happy when you feel like ass? It always makes me feel a little better.”
She laughs while groaning. “I often wonder if I can ever learn anything new about you, and then there’s a vibrator on the living room floor.”