Bang Theory

by Valente, Lili

  Theo: Sweetly deluded. He refuses to be convinced there’s anything “his girls” can’t do. If I’d listened to him, I wouldn’t have even applied to culinary school. I would have gone straight to the Sorbonne and demanded a teaching position.

  I’m not forgetting that you need to get something off your chest, by the way.

  I’m just a little nervous. I’ve never known you to break a promise. Ever. Like…never ever. So I get that something is seriously wrong for you to even consider violating a confidence, and I’m afraid I won’t have good advice.

  Are you sure you don’t want to talk to Kirby, instead?

  If so, I won’t be offended.

  Bridget: You always have good advice! You’re wise beyond your years. But even if you weren’t, I can’t talk to

  Kirby. She’s the main person I’m supposed to be keeping the secret from.

  Theo: Oh wow. Now I’m really scared. Have you ever successfully kept a secret from Kirby?

  Bridget: Of course not. She’s a bloodhound. Which is why I need to talk to you, get this off my chest, and return to a state of relative calm before she and Colin come over for wine tasting with the guests tomorrow. If I don’t, she’ll smell blood in the water and keep at me until I’m nothing but a collection of random body parts floating in the carnage-filled gossip ocean.

  Theo: That settles it. I’m never going into the water again. Thanks.

  Bridget: Sorry! I forgot you were afraid of sharks. I know Kirby used to be, but she got over it.

  Theo: How?!

  Bridget: She did one of those shark cage things. Spent an hour underwater with a bunch of Great Whites.

  Theo: Wow. Is that super brave or super crazy? I’m too tipsy to tell.

  Bridget: A little of both, I think. But sharks really aren’t that bad, you know. You should be more scared of mosquitoes. They kill almost a million people worldwide every year. They kill more people than PEOPLE kill people. And people kill way more people than sharks, too. So in comparison, sharks are basically cuddly snuggle bunnies with cool bonus teeth who want to be friends.

  Theo: Not helping. And I just realized how late it was. Shit! I’m meeting Colette for more celebratory drinks in twenty minutes, and I have to put my bra back on. Ugh. So if you still want to spill those beans…

  Bridget: Crap. Okay. I’ll just spit it out.

  So, it started about a month ago, when Shep and I kissed for the first time.

  Theo: Wait! WHAT?!

  Bridget: Shep and I kissed. Back when he was staying in my spare room while Kirby and Colin were in Vegas. We were researching some things on the dark web and—

  Theo: And you wait all this time to tell me?

  Bridget: I promised Shep I wouldn’t.

  Theo: OMG! Why would he make you promise something like that? And you said that was the first time, right? The FIRST! So I assume this means there’s been more kissing since then?!

  Bridget: Quit interrupting or I’ll never get it all out before you have to leave!

  Theo: Okay! Fine. I’m putting on my bra. You have three minutes.

  Bridget: It takes you three minutes to put on a bra?

  Theo: When I’ve already had two glasses of wine it does. Spill it, sister. And you’d better not leave out the juicy parts.

  Bridget: There aren’t any juicy parts. At least I don’t think there are. I guess it depends on what you consider juicy. At first, it was just a one-time thing, a fluke we both agreed shouldn’t happen again. He was completely freaked out, and I just wanted him to feel better, so I promised never to tell anyone about the kiss and we went on with our lives.

  But afterwards, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About how good it was—so so SO much better than any kiss I’d ever had—and how I wanted more excellent kissing like that in my life.

  But I’m hopeless at dating. You know that.

  So how am I going to put myself in a position to experience more excellent kissing? Especially when I’m pretty sure I’m NOT such a great kisser, and I was only good at it that one time because Shep was taking the lead, you know?

  Theo: So it’s like Dancing with the Stars? He’s the professional dancer and you’re the washed-up celebrity leaning heavily on his mad wiggling skills?

  Bridget: Exactly like that! Yes!

  Theo: I seriously doubt you’re that bad a kisser, but I’ll go along with this for the time being. Tell me more while I try not to stab myself in the eye with this mascara wand. Argh, why do my lashes have to be so long?

  Bridget: And why does your hair have to be so lustrous and thick and your eyes so big and beautiful, like an anime character come to life? It must be so hard being your gorgeous self.

  Theo: Stop it. I’m not gorgeous. I’m googly eyed. Like a Sesame Street puppet. And you’re getting off the subject. More details. Now!

  Bridget: Right. So I got to thinking about relationships at the dildo party and was pondering a way to approach the problem from a more analytical angle. Then I got hit on the head by the flowerpot and had a long talk with Sir Isaac Newton and developed this theory about banging, and why some people are good at it and some people aren’t.

  Theo: Sir Isaac Newton?

  Bridget: Yes. And I know that’s weird, and that it was just a dream, but I think I came up with something good! But in order to test my theory, and potentially improve my bang-ability, I needed a lab partner. So when Shep came over to Kirby’s to see if I was okay, I took him back to the garden and…propositioned him.

  Theo: Oh my God. Shut up. You didn’t.

  Bridget: I did. I asked him to be my Bang Theory study buddy.

  Theo: And what on earth did he say to that?

  Bridget: He said he needed to unplug his saw and ran away. And then I refused to return his calls for two weeks.

  Theo: OMG.

  Bridget: I know. I was pretty sure our friendship was ruined, but then we started talking today and one thing led to another and…

  Theo: And? And!!

  Bridget: And pretty soon he was giving me my first Sex 101 lesson on the pier.

  Theo: And how was that?!

  Bridget: Incredible. The kissing was even better than the first time. So hot and sweet and so intense that if a kid hadn’t thrown a hamburger at us, I’m pretty sure we would have gotten to third base.

  Theo: Squee! This is so exciting!

  Bridget: No it’s not! It’s awful!

  Theo: How is it awful?

  Bridget: Because it was wonderful! It was the most wonderful kiss and the most wonderful touching, and he made me feel things no one has ever made me feel, but then he ran away again.

  Theo: Why? I mean, he was enjoying it, too, right?

  Bridget: It certainly felt like it. If you know what I mean…

  Theo: LOL. Oh, I do know what you mean. And good for you, woman! See! You’re doing just fine at the sex stuff. You don’t need a tutor. Or a test subject. Now that I think about it, that’s probably what’s scaring Shep off. I mean, I’m as obsessed with sex as most girls raised by insanely conservative parents, but even I wouldn’t want to be someone’s test subject, you know?

  Bridget: That could be part of it, I guess. But I think it’s mostly that he doesn’t want to mess up our friendship with sex.

  Theo: Which is valid. Sex does complicate things most of the time.

  Bridget: Yeah. So I guess I’m just going to have to find someone else to help me. Though, I honestly can’t think of anyone else I could approach with something like this. You got any ideas?

  Theo: I don’t know, mama. I think some things can’t be clinically examined. They have to be felt. Sensed. Leapt into with your arms spread wide and all of your clothes strewn across the sand.

  Bridget: Is tonight the night then? Are you finally going skinny-dipping?

  Theo: Colette and I talked about it. I was already on the fence because it’s been so chilly the past few weeks. And now that you reminded me about sharks, I’m going to take a hard pass on that action.
r />   They like to hunt at night, you know. Much like human predators.

  Which gives me a brilliant idea!

  You should come out to the bar with us!

  Bridget: Aw, thank you, but I don’t want to intrude.

  Theo: You wouldn’t be intruding! Colette loves you. And she has excellent man-dar. She’ll be able to sense if there’s anyone there who might make a good sex research assistant for you.

  Bridget: Oh no, I could never ask a stranger. I’d be way too nervous.

  Theo: That’s what Gummy Glo-Worms are for. Swing by the Stop N Save and stock up before you meet us at the bar. You’ll be five sheets to the wind before you have your first glass of Chardonnay. You’re the only person I know who gets wasted on candy, by the way. It’s pretty cute.

  Bridget: I think it’s something in the dye they use to color the Glo-Worms, not the sugar. But thank you. Also, no. I can’t trust myself when I’m on Glo-Worms. And they turn my teeth green, which isn’t sexy. At all. Even I know enough about sex to know that.

  Theo: Colette and I will be there to make sure you don’t do anything crazy, and it’s so dark inside Chippy’s no one will be able to see what color your teeth are. Half the patrons there have green teeth, anyway. Or no teeth.

  Bridget: LOL. You make it sound so tempting.

  Theo: Because it is! Colette and I will be there, so you know you’ll have fun. And who knows, you might actually meet someone. Looking for a sex-experiment partner is a great pick-up line. Seriously, what guy could resist that?

  Bridget: You’d be surprised what men can resist when it comes to yours truly.

  Theo: *eye roll emoji* That settles it. You’re coming out.

  We’re going to debunk this crazy story you’ve been telling yourself right now. You are gorgeous and sweet and so much fun to be with. You should have your pick of dudes, and from now on, you will.

  Tonight is the night everything turns around!

  Meet us outside Chippy’s in forty-five minutes. I’ll stop by and get the Glo-Worms so you’ll have time to get ready. See you there!

  Bridget: But what if it’s not a crazy story?

  Theo: No buts! See you soon!

  Chapter Seven

  Shep

  I’m not a big drinker.

  I’ll pop open a few beers at the end of a long day or when I’m out on the boat, but it’s rare to catch me bar hopping with the boys. Most nights, I’d rather go home (or back to the tour bus), work on my latest carving project until my eyelids get heavy, and then drop off listening to a chapter of an audiobook.

  But tonight, when Cutter roars up the street to my summer sublet on his motorcycle and stomps up the stairs to growl, “I need to get out of my fucking house before my fucking old man drives me fucking crazy. Come drink with me,” I change shirts and follow him down the stairs without a fight.

  Cutter, a consummate loner, rarely demands company, so he must really need to talk.

  And I need to get out of my house, where I’ve been mentally replaying every sexy-as-sin sound Bridget made while we were kissing and fighting the urge to jerk off—again. Because jerking off to illicit memories of a friend once is bad enough.

  Doing it twice would be unforgivable.

  “You ever had it bad for someone you shouldn’t?” I hear myself asking as Cutter and I start down the street toward the opposite side of the square, making me suspect he’s bound for Chippy’s, our favorite dive bar.

  Cutter grunts. “Have you met me? I don’t do romance. I fuck. You should try it sometime. Takes the edge off a lot faster than carving baby animals.”

  “They’re not all babies,” I say mildly. “And sometimes I carve flowers.”

  Cutter laughs and claps me on the back. “That’s right. You do. Very nice flowers. And I take that back. You shouldn’t start fucking around. At least not tonight. I’d like to get laid, and I don’t want any competition from a gentle giant with a big fluffy beard.” He narrows his green eyes my way. “You know girls go crazy for all that, right? The burly guy with the heart of gold, thing? You could be hauling in tail hand over fist if you wanted to be.”

  I shrug. “Not my game.”

  “So what is your game? Solo synchronized penis dancing?”

  I snort. “Well, I had to do something when I gave up underwater basket weaving.”

  He grunts. “Seriously, though, when’s the last time you got laid, man?” He shakes his head with a sigh. “And how do you make it look so easy, going to bed alone every night? Cause it’s killing me. Being back in this town where I’ve already hit everything worth hitting and the tourists are all old enough to be my mother… Fuck, I feel like I’m going crazy some nights.”

  “It’s not always easy,” I admit. “The first few weeks after Carrie broke things off were pretty shitty, in fact.”

  Cutter claps me on the back again. “Yeah, that had to suck. I mean, it’s bad enough to be dumped for another guy, but to have to watch your girl and her new man dirtbag all over each other during tech rehearsal…”

  I shrug. “But she’s happier with Eric. They fit in a way Carrie and I didn’t. We were always good friends and laughed a lot, but it was never anything more than that, you know?”

  He nods. “Because she’s a cheating jerk with a heart filled with pus?”

  I pull a face. “Nasty, man. And her heart isn’t filled with pus. She’s a cool person and a talented lightning designer. You should be glad we’re still on good terms. Carrie makes you less fortunate humans look good up on stage every night.”

  “Less fortunate than you?” Cutter laughs. Hard. “Oh, you arrogant bearded bastard. You think just because you’ve got a stalker you’re irresistible to women, is that it?”

  I grunt, not enjoying the reminder of the vaguely threatening and completely odd love letters someone has been sending to our fan mail address for the past six months. “Hardly. Call me crazy, but weird love notes from strangers don’t do it for me.”

  “You’re crazy. All attention is good attention.”

  “That kind of thinking is how you’re going to end up getting arrested again before you turn thirty.”

  “Nope. I’m going to continue to skate by under the radar. Or to get in trouble with lady cops I can sweet-talk into letting me go with a warning. Just wait until we get to the bar, dude. We’ll see who scores and who doesn’t.” He elbows my side. “You should have been nice to me. I would have helped you find a girl, but now it’s every man for himself.”

  “I don’t want to find a girl,” I grumble as we reach the door to Chippy’s and the dull roar from inside begins to vibrate my bones.

  It’s barely seven o’clock, but it’s already loud, making me wish I’d at least tried to talk Cutter into beers and pizza at my place. Call me an old fogey, but I prefer talking to a friend over screaming into his ear for a couple of hours.

  I grab Cutter’s arm, holding him back as he starts into the bar. He turns, brows lifting. “What’s up?”

  “Is that all you wanted to talk about? How long it’s been since I got laid?”

  “You never did answer the question,” Cutter says, dragging a hand through his shaggy, dark blond hair and side-stepping as a crew of rampantly intoxicated construction workers stumble out the door onto the sidewalk.

  “A few months.” I roll my eyes when he makes a stricken face. “Don’t start. It’s fine. I’ve gone longer. I’d rather be alone than naked with a stranger.”

  “Doesn’t have to be a stranger,” Cutter says. “Fuck buddies can be magical creatures, my friend. Like unicorns, but hornier.”

  “Right,” I huff.

  “Damn right I’m right.” He leans closer, lowering his voice. “I love my friends with bennies. Burlington and I ski every time I’m up there, Tampa hooks me up with that cool turquoise jewelry she makes and snapchats of her tits, and St. Louis and I have bitch sessions at least once a week about how fucking ridiculous people are.” He bobs his shoulders up and down. “And then, when I happe
n to be in the same general vicinity as one of those lovely ladies, we have hot, sweaty, amazing, uncomplicated, multi-orgasmic sex. It’s good stuff.”

  I shake my head, but there’s a part of me that wonders if he might be on to something.