Chapter Twenty
Justin
“Wrong”- Max
Central Park. Sunshine and the outdoors. Pigeon shit and crowds. This really is a pain in the ass, but, you do what you must to get laid. I smile as I lean in close to Amy. I tap my phone, the picture snapping. I do a quick edit and she leans over my shoulder. “What are you doing?”
“Making the picture look better.”
She giggles. “You’re a guy, you actually Photoshop your pictures?”
“First of all, it’s not Photoshop.” I close out of the app. “And second, I’m a public figure. I have to look good, you know. My face is kinda like my brand.”
“Yeah. I get it.”
I pull up Facebook, hesitating before I post it. I rarely post pictures of me with girls, so when I do, people lose their shit. Marisa hasn’t texted me. She hasn’t called me, so maybe this will send a bolt of jealousy rippling through her. I type out a quick tagline and hit post.
“Oh my gosh, look how cute that baby is.” Amy points across the lawn at some woman carting a fat toddler around. “Awww. I want to hold it.” I throw my head back and groan. This is fucking torture. This girl is a complete... girl. I pick at a blade of grass and glance at my watch. “Thanks so much for bringing me here,” she says. “Central Park is gorgeous.”
“Yep.”
“Maybe tomorrow we can go to the Natural Museum, or oh, oh... ” she grabs my arm and snuggles up to me on the little blanket she brought for our picnic.Fucking picnic in the park.“Maybe a musical.”
“No fucking way.” I scoot away from her. “I am not going to a musical. Forget that shit.”
“Aw, come on, baby. Please... ”
Jesus Christ, baby after three dates. We haven’t even fucked. I roll my eyes. “No way. I’ve gotta write anyway.”
“How’s your friend?” Amy asks, resting her head on my shoulder. Fuck my life this girl is needy with the attention. She’s acting like I’m her boyfriend or some shit. How dense can she possibly be?
“What?”
“Your friend. That pretty girl you were with the other day at Elmo’s.”
“Oh,” I wipe my hand over my face, aggravated that the image of Marisa’s fucking face is now in my head. Her eyes and lips and that attitude... “she’s uh, fine.”
“How long have you two been friends?”
Jesus, what is this, the fifth-fucking-degree. I glare at Amy. “I don’t fucking know. What does that matter?” That gets her head off my shoulder.
“Sorry... ”
I push to my feet, dusting the grass clippings off my ass. “I’ve got to go write before my agent has my ass.” She looks up at me with sad puppy dog eyes. “I’ll text you or something later,” I say, already walking away from her and her damn picnic blanket.
* * *
Ipumpanother handful of lotion into my palm, focusing on the money shot on the TV. Up and down, faster and faster and—nothing. This entire jerking off crap is bullshit. I flop back on the bed, sweat beading on my forehead, lotion coating my hands, and my dick still hard as concrete. I could have sucked it up and brought Amy back here, but I just couldn’t go there. She is already a Stage-5 Clinger and god only knows how bad it would get if I fucked her.
I wipe my hand over the bedsheet and grab my phone, texting Marisa:Miss you.
And that’s not a lie. I do miss her.
