But….
Even I could not ignore that little teeny-tiny light that seemed to ignite within me like some kind of misplaced hope, a small ray of sunshine on an otherwise stormy day that maybe, just maybe—
“Oh sweat balls,” I told the supply closet, close to panicking.
The highlighters did not reply.
“WHAT the hell am I going to do!” I cried at Wheels that night as we sat on the couch. Man v. Food was on again, but even Adam Richman eating the world’s biggest hot dog didn’t do anything for me (to be fair, it was a repeat; I remember watching that episode for the first time thinking, Yeah, you take it. Take it all. I might be a bit of a perv).
Wheels snorted, cocking his head at me from his spot on my thigh.
“That’s all you have to say about it?” I scolded him. “That bastard kissed me! He wasn’t supposed to do that! I could have gotten fired.”
Wheels barked once, a soft sound followed by a guttural growl. He laid his head back on my thigh, his eyes never leaving me, calling me a fucking idiot in that way he did so well.
“I am not,” I said, sulking slightly. “You don’t understand. Why would he do something like that? Why is he trying to get my hopes up? Is this just some kind of fucking game to him?”
Wheels huffed and tried to roll on his side, away from me, so obviously disgusted with me that he didn’t even want to look at me anymore. His wheels were too bulky for him to be able to lie comfortably on his side on the couch. I undid the harness that kept his little cart attached and removed it carefully. Once this was done, he huffed at me again as if to reiterate his point and rolled over, curling his front two paws up underneath him, his ear stretched out on my thigh.
“Oh, now you’re going to ignore me?” I snapped at him. “What, gonna give me until five o’clock tomorrow to do whatever you say? You’re just a fucking jerk too, you half dog.”
He sighed.
I felt bad. “I didn’t mean that,” I said quietly. “I just don’t think any of this is real.” His bottom wiggled a bit, wagging his imaginary tail. I often wondered if dogs were like human amputees who could still feel ghosts of their limbs long after they’d been amputated. It always made me a little depressed to think about, because I couldn’t stand the thought of Wheels being uncomfortable in any way. “You forgive me?” I asked, scratching his head.
He rolled over and licked my hand just once, then grabbed ahold of it in his teeth. He applied a bit of pressure and shook his head back and forth once each way. Don’t be a fucking idiot, you fucker, he was telling me (in my head, Wheels cursed with the best of them). Fucking man up before your balls fall off and you and the Period Ghost have something in common. I don’t need two wailing chicks in my house, so man the fuck up.
“Dammit,” I whispered.
I hated tomorrow already.
Chapter 6
Performing CPR Is Just One Tongue Away From Making Out
MY ALARM went off, but I was already awake. I hadn’t slept much. Every time I closed my eyes, I would remember that kiss, the feel of his hands on my face, the shine in his eyes that made me feel warm even though I was sure it was all a fluke. Even the talking-to Wheels had given me the night before seemed somewhat of a distant memory and my resolve seemed a weaker.
I tried to get determined in the shower.
I tried to get determined in front of the mirror.
I tried (and almost succeeded) to get determined while brushing my teeth.
I tried (and failed spectacularly) to get determined while getting dressed.
I knew that Sandy wasn’t just fucking around when he said he would give me until the end of the day or he’d do it for me. There are times when I think he’s pulling my leg, but this was not one of them. I knew because of the gleam in his eye, the way Helena peeked out from inside. When Helena tells you she’s going to do something, you can be sure as shit that it’s going to get done. Helena doesn’t believe in wasting time by just saying she’ll do things. She likes to grab life (and muscle men) by the balls. And if there was ever a ball-grabbing moment for her, this was it.
I figured I’d have the rest of the day to work up my courage before five o’clock hit, so I had plenty of time. I stared at myself at the bathroom mirror for the sixteenth time. “You’re cool,” I told my reflection. Wheels barked at my feet in what had to be complete agreement. “You’re hip. You’re a badass. You don’t take no prisoners. You’re a go-getter. You see something you want? You go get it. Be suave. Be smooooth. Practice. Practice.” I cocked my eyebrow at my reflection. “Hey, Vince,” I said, dropping my voice a bit. “Let’s go get physical. Oh fuck. Olivia Newton-John? Really, Paul? That’s the first thing you go to? Don’t be such a homo! Try it again.” I smiled at myself, trying to put a sexy curve to it. It looked like I was smelling something awful. “Hey, Vince,” I said again. “You and I should go get some coffee.” I tried to lick my lips seductively as I finished: “I like mine with extra cream.” I ended up looking like I was licking my own face off.
Wheels howled quietly, then barked once, saying, Yooooooooooouuuuuu suck!
“Okay, I can do this. It’s not like I’ve never asked out a guy before. Okay, I haven’t, but I’m not even asking him out. He already asked me out, and even though I said no, I’m allowed to say yes now!” I glared at myself in the mirror. “Don’t be such a pansy,” I growled at Pansy Paul. I gave a sort of regular smile. “Hey, Vince. Fancy seeing you here. Oh goddammit! We work together, for Christ’s sake! Hey, Vince, I decided to take you up on your offer of dinner. You’re welcome. Ew. God, that sounded smarmy.” I sucked in my stomach and puffed out my chest, lowering my voice. “Hey, Vince. Let’s go work out and run on a treadmill for eighteen miles because that’s so much fun to do.” I gasped in air. I turned and looked at myself in the mirror. “Do I have a double chin?” I asked Wheels, frowning at my reflection. It didn’t look like I did until I lowered my chin to my chest. Look up, single chin. Look down, double chin. Look up, single chin. Okay, so always look up. Suck in the gut a little. Your ass looks pretty good. Not great, but not bad either. Maybe you should try some lunges. And lunge! And lunge! And—ow, my fucking thigh! Goddammit. Okay bring it on in. Bring it on in. And… pose! Not too shabby, Auster. Not too shabby indeed. Except for the fact that you are already sweating and your face is red and you always look down because you’re shy, so you will always have a motherfucking double chin!
My reflection stared sadly at me, shaking his head. Judgmental bastard.
There wa
s nothing else I could do, I knew. Well, there was; I could have always gotten into my car and driven down to Mexico and changed my name to Esteban Mendez and opened up my own dusty bar in the tiny town of Xonoca. I look pretty good in a poncho, and I could have gotten a big sombrero and grown a sweet mustache and spent my days saying things like Sí and Toda la cerveza se ha acabado, pero puede comerse algunos de estos tacos que hice. ¿Qué le pasó al Sr. Rodríguez? No ha sido el mismo hace que su esposa él dejó. He oído que ella era una puta bastante grande. (Translated: I am all out of beer, but you might have some of these tacos I just made. What is up with Mr. Rodriguez? He hasn’t been the same since his wife left. I heard she was quite the whore).