In fact, she was heading toward the orgy room. And some legacy members of the club were scheduled for that room tonight. “Uh, Andi,” I said, taking a step toward her.
“Nope. I’m not interested in watching any more weird shows tonight. I need to sleep that one off, thank you very much,” she called over her shoulder before disappearing around a corner.
I stopped and waited with crossed arms and a smile.
It was a minute later before she returned, walking more stiffly and with much wider eyes. “That was the wrong way.” The quiet, stiff tone of her voice made the situation immensely more amusing.
“Why don’t you let me walk you out.”
Andi nodded, and for the first time since I’d met her, she didn’t seem to have much to say.
5
Andi
Bree paused with the nail polish bottle in one hand and the brush in another. “You’re making that up,” she said, eyes wide.
I shook my head. “I wish I was.” I’d just finished filling her in on the details of last night, concluding with the optical abuse of whatever the hell had been going on in that dark, smelly room. I shuddered at the memory. Until that room, every single man I’d seen had been sculpted and near perfect. That room. It had apparently been senior night, and those seniors were all very… Lively. It was like stumbling into a room full of humping rabbits in heat, only the rabbits were hairless, wrinkled, and one was loudly asking if anyone had seen its dentures.
Bree leaned in a little. “Are you okay? It looks like you’re going to be sick.”
“I saw things, Bree. Things no human eyes were meant to see.”
“You’re exaggerating, though. Right?”
I pointed to my face. “Does this look like the face of somebody who didn’t walk in on a room full of grandmas and grandpas playing hide the sausage?”
Bree thought about that. “Well, good for them. Just because they’re older, it doesn’t mean they shouldn’t be able to enjoy themselves.”
I sighed. “That’s not the point. They can have all the fun they want. I just don’t want to have to see it. Maybe when I’m eighty, I’ll have had the time to prepare my brain for something like that.”
“You’re terrible. I mean, I do hope they were being careful. That sounds like a recipe for somebody to get hurt.”
I laughed. “They all looked surprisingly limber, actually. Not that I stuck around long enough to see who could touch their toes and who couldn’t.”
“And what about Landon?”
“What about him?”
“I mean, didn’t the thought cross your mind? This whole situation would be perfect if you wanted to date him.”
I laughed. “This isn’t exactly the ideal start for a successful relationship. Besides, he…” I shook my head. I was going to say he hated my guts, but that wasn’t entirely true. He was trying to hate my guts, but I’d seen enough to suspect those feelings were forced. “Just no,” I said. “The whole experience was way, way too weird. I just need some time to process everything before I go back there. If, I go back.” Except I knew I was going to. I kept thinking about the way he’d rested his leg against me during the show in the Red Room. It had felt like he was somehow claiming me—daring me to move away. But I hadn’t. I’d sat there, letting the dirty thrill of it fill me and warm my belly until I had been uncomfortably excited.
Bree squinted. “He’s really hot, though. You’ve at least got to admit that much.”
It felt like she’d been reading my mind. I squirmed uncomfortably, then snatched the nail polish from her and started doing my own toes, since she seemed content to sit and talk instead of help. “He also smells weirdly good, and he just looks more and more handsome as the night goes on. But guess what? Landon’s looks matter about as much to me as the make and model of a car coming toward me at high speed.”
“It’s not like that at all.”
“And you know because you googly eyed him in the lobby for like, two minutes? Because good looking men couldn’t possibly be bad?”
“No,” Bree said. “Because an ordinary guy couldn’t handle you, I’ve watched them try. You overpower everybody who tries to get close to you.”
“You say that like it’s a good thing. But couldn’t an argument be made that I should make myself easier to handle?”
“Does a king cobra apologize for being poisonous and terrifying?”
“No…” I said slowly. “Because they are venomous. If them biting you makes you sick, they are venomous. If you biting them makes you sick, they are poisonous.”
Bree waved off my comment. “Nobody cares. I’m just saying it sounds like Landon might be the first guy who can put up with you. Are you really willing to just walk away from that without giving it a shot?”
“I don’t know, but why does everybody seem to want to compare me to animals that bite lately?”
“Good question,” Bree said. “A better question is what you’re going to do about it? Are you going to stop biting, or are you going to keep chomping away until you find a man who can handle a little nibble here and there?”
I laughed. “Seriously. I’m pretty sure I’ve never bitten anyone in my entire life. But I do get the point you’re making. The problem is that just ‘handling’ me doesn’t equate to a guy being a good match. Besides, ever since Landon heard I was a Wainwright, he seemed pretty dead set on hating me.”
“And what about before that?”
“You mean the, what, thirty seconds I talked to him in front of the vending machine? He was nicer, yeah. But somehow, I don’t think that matters.”
“Of course, it does. It means he liked you until he knew who you were. So, all you need to do is show him you’re not the person he thinks you are.”
“What?” I asked.
“Think about it. He started acting different when he heard your last name. In other words, he already had some idea about who you were. He let that idea override what his own eyes were telling him.”
“And how would he have a previously held idea about who I am?”
Bree shrugged. “He’s a man of mystery. Bonus points.”
“None of it matters. I could happily live the rest of my life without that asshole.”
“You just said he was nice when you first met.”
“Okay? And then he stacked like three hours of asshole on his two seconds of nice.” I made a gesture with my hands like I was measuring the two on a scale. No matter what came out of my mouth, I wasn’t sure I really believed he was an asshole. I’d seen too many cracks in the mask to really fall for it.
Bree was looking at me in that annoyingly persistent way of hers. “I don’t know,” she said wistfully. “I’ve just never seen you talk about a guy like this.”
“Like I’m irritated by the idea that he exists?”
“Or like maybe he got under your skin.”
I sighed. “What is it you’re wanting me to say? I mean, yeah, part of me wonders if he and I would hypothetically be a good match in some alternate universe. I’ve also wondered if a random hot guy in the coffee shop would be a good kisser, but that doesn’t mean I went up and tried to make out with him.”
“I don’t want you to say anything. I just wanted to plant some information in that stubborn head of yours. You like him, even though you’re pretending you don’t.”
My sister was officially delusional. “The part you’re forgetting is that he doesn’t like me. My feelings about him are irrelevant. Maybe he’s the one you need to be pestering.”
“You’re just not used to men who aren’t intimidated by you. And you’re mistaking confidence for disinterest.”
“I intimidate people? Since when?”
“You don’t care what anyone thinks of you. And you do tend to say inappropriate things at inappropriate times. You also have horrible bathroom etiquette. I’ve been meaning to mention that.”
I set down the nail polish and stood, not caring if I was smearing nail polish on the carpet. “Bathr
oom etiquette? What do you mean, like I forget to say please and thank you before and after taking a dump?”
Bree cringed. “More like the fact that you call it a dump. Or the way you feel the need to… Well…”
“What? Spit it out.”
“Sometimes you text me from the bathroom and I know what you’re doing in there. It just feels weird.”
I laughed. “You’re ridiculous. I’m going to start sending you toilet selfies just to see you squirm. How does that sound?”
“It sounds like you need to be tamed. I rest my case.”
I threw a pillow at her a little harder than I intended. It connected with her forehead and sent her crashing backwards into the couch. “Yeah,” I said in a gritty voice. “Take that like a little bitch.”
6
Landon
I poured steaming tea from the kettle, ignoring how much I hated the smell of the stuff. From the other room, I could hear my mom’s hacking coughs. She had started smoking just after the divorce with my dad, and a few weeks ago, we found out her cancer had come back. This would be the third time, and financially, my brother and I were almost completely tapped out from the first two.
Dear old dad had provided some perks to managing his clubs. We both had access to a tailor, and he’d provided us with top of the line clothing to look the part. He’d even given us access to company cars. Beyond what the clients could see, dad didn’t care if our stomachs were growling. It was punishment, in his own way. We hadn’t chosen him over mom after she cheated, and he never forgave us for it.
My brother, James, leaned against the counter to my side. He had a way of looking like a statue no matter where he was—always preoccupied and always deep in thought.
“She really doesn’t know?” he asked suddenly.
“Who, mom?” I asked.
“No. Andi.”
I wanted to pretend I didn’t know what he was talking about, but I did. I planted my hands on the kitchen counter. “How do you tell somebody something like that?” I asked.
“Plain English?” James suggested in a bored voice.
“By the way,” I said in a mocking tone. “Your adoptive grandfather is actually my biological father. See, he got so jealous when my mom cheated on him that he disowned me and my brother. Instead of trying to reconcile things with us, he adopted you and your sisters and became the world’s number one fake grandfather. Meanwhile, he treated me and my brother like slaves to further his business interests, barely talking to us except when he had to.”
James gave a little shrug. “See? Easy.”
I chuckled darkly, then shook my head. “Fuck. Sometimes I forget how much I hated him. Just saying it out loud…”
“He was a bastard. Yeah.”
Mom coughed again, reminding me to get the tea finished. I dropped in four spoonfuls of sugar, because she liked it sickeningly sweet. My thoughts still raced while I stirred the sugar in. The part I couldn’t even bring myself to admit out loud was how I hated that he’d left us nearly destitute. No health insurance. No respectable salary. We had always assumed that there would be some kind of tipping point—some level of success within the club that would mean we’d paid our penance in his mind. That point never came.
He’d also known mom was sick, and he’d still let it happen. I was almost certain that part of him knew if he paid us more, we could have afforded better treatment. We could’ve taken her to the best specialists, gotten her in-home care instead of having to cart her back and forth to hospitals when she was puking her guts up. But the fucking asshole wanted her to die. I know he did.
Mom was sitting up on the couch, looking healthy and beautiful, even still in her late fifties. We hadn’t started treatment for this round yet, but she was scheduled to begin soon. I should’ve been worried about the money it was going to cost, but I knew where I’d get it.
I wondered if dad left me the ability to screw Andi out of her inheritance as one last “fuck you.” Maybe forcing her into this arrangement with me was his way of showing me how amazing she was. He knew I’d still do whatever I had to for mom, and he’d chosen Andi to stain my conscience.
I wasn’t just going to be stealing from his ghost. No. I would’ve loved that. Instead, I was ripping away her inheritance. Cheating her out of it.
“My body may be going to shit,” she said in a craggy voice. “But my ears still work. I heard you two talking in there.”
I looked down, then set the tea on the table beside her. She had been so young when she met William Wainwright and got pregnant with us. Young enough that I didn’t hold what she did against her—not anymore, at least.
“I’ve always appreciated how you and your brother stood by me. Even when your dad was trying his hardest to get you to cut me out of your lives.”
I hated that she still called him dad, but it was too petty a complaint to voice out loud. “I know,” I said. More often, these were the kinds of things she talked about. It made me grit my teeth because I knew she was trying to tie up loose ends, like she thought she might not be around much longer to do it.
She looked down, licking her teeth in the same, slow way I always found myself doing when I was thinking hard. “There’s no excuse for what I did, but—”
“Mom, you don’t need to explain it to me, okay? You’re my fucking mom. You brought me into this world, and I’m going to do whatever I can to keep you from getting taken out of it. It’s that simple.”
She reached out and squeezed my hand. “You’re a good man, no matter how hard you may try to convince everyone otherwise.”
I looked away, smiling tightly. A good man would’ve told Andi the full truth before letting her start William’s list. He also wouldn’t blame an orphaned girl for something she had no knowledge or control over.
I squeezed her hand back but said nothing.
7
Andi
I had a job writing an advice column for a not-so-popular blogger. She was also a not-so-successful and not-so-wealthy blogger. Unfortunately, she was my friend, and that meant I put up with working out of her studio apartment for an insulting amount of money. I also put up with her ferret, Montague, who would’ve been put on a sexual predator list years ago if ferrets were held to the same standards as people.
Okay, none of that was entirely true. But the full truth is kind of pathetic, so I’ve gotten used to burying it. I just wanted to feel like my job was writing, even if it meant not getting paid regularly or well.
So day after day, week after payless week, I kept showing up. Not because of loyalty to Rachel or endurance for the sexual exploits of Montague the ferret, but because I wanted to believe this job was a stepping stone. Especially now that grandpa was gone, it felt even more important to be here.
I let myself into Rachel’s room because she refused to lock her door, no matter how many times I harassed her about it. The studio apartment was small enough that you couldn’t have even practiced a full range of yo-yo moves inside it. The lone window sometimes offered a view of a row of boxes where some homeless people lived on the street below. All in all, it was the kind of perfect charmer that demanded thousands of dollars per month in New York City’s housing market.
Rachel was sitting on a pile of her dirty clothes with about seven pens stuck in her hair. She patted around blindly on the nightstand behind her, searching for something.
I plucked a pen from her hair and handed it to her.
“What do you think about sequins? Out of date or coming back?” she asked.
Rachel was probably the most driven and single-minded person I’d ever met. If there was one thing she did well, it was refusing to admit there was nothing she actually did well. But to her credit, that never stopped her from busting her ass and using sheer effort to at least do a halfway decent job. In a kind of pathetic way, it was admirable.
Her blog, RachelATM, which was supposed to be short for Rachel’s Advice to Mom’s, was often visited by horny men who thought Rachel was into ass-to-mout
h or that she was ready to print money for them. It was also worth noting that Rachel was not a mom. In fact, she hated kids and never made time to date. As far as I knew, she also wasn’t interested in ass-to-mouth and she definitely wasn’t printing money.
She was wearing a loose-fitting t-shirt, yoga pants, and thick, red glasses. In the few times I’d seen her around guys, something about her intensity and tight-lipped smiles seemed to scare men away. Still, I thought if she could loosen up long enough to survive a date, there would be plenty of men out there willing to take a shot with her—if for no other reason than the vague prospect of a little ass-to-mouth.
I pulled my laptop out of my bag and sat on the edge of her bed. Rachel tore off a page in her notebook with a few ideas hastily scribbled down for today’s advice column.
I raised my eyebrows. “Breastfeeding for dummies?” I asked.
“You have the internet,” she said. “Just look it up.”
I sighed. “Don’t you just kind of stick them on the boob? How hard can it be?”
“Would you just do your job and stop asking questions?”
I glared at her, even though she wasn’t looking. “If you want to keep calling it a job, you might consider paying me on the reg.”
“If you want more money, try writing a column that actually gets some hits. Then there might be some money to give you.”
“I keep trying to tell you. Embrace this anal fellatio thing and your site will be a hit. Think of all the unsatisfied men who bounce off the site every day. I can picture it now. ‘Ass-To-Mouth: 5 Dirty Tricks.’”
Rachel pantomimed gagging. “How about, Breast feeding: Jug Gotta See These 5 Tricks to Believe ‘Em.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Jug gotta?”
Rachel held her hands in front of her almost-not-there boobs. “You know. Jugs.”
“I got it, I just… Never mind. It’s your site!” I said cheerily.
The Golden Pecker Page 4
