Page 73 of Shade
“She was a virgin?” Auden asks. Look at his face. He’s jealous, too, and just as shocked as me.
“Dude. . . right?” Tiller laughs. “Who knew she was a virgin. She’s been hanging around dirty fucks all her life. Who knew it’d be me.” Do you sense the pride in his voice?
Tiller sleeps with virgins. We don’t even know how, but he always manages to sleep with them. We nicknamed him the virgin stealer a long time ago, and the dude could make a cherry pie with his collection by now. He’s also the only guy I know who can bring home a stripper to his Ninja Turtle sheets on his twin bed and still get head every time.
“Do you remember it?”
Tiller’s eyes light up, and he shifts on the couch as if the memory alone is giving him a semi. “Oh, I fucking remember it all right.” And then he adjusts himself, confirming my theory.
You’re thinking, that’s disgusting, right? I’m glad he’s wearing shorts. It could be a lot worse, believe me.
“It’s kinda fucked up,” Auden says, taking the chips back so Tiller won’t stick his hand he just had down his shorts into the bag. “I get it. She’s hot but really, a virgin? You’re not exactly the kind of guy she should have slept with. O’s too cute for you.”
“It’s not like I’m ever gonna fuck her again. I didn’t even think about it. I just thought she was tight and a good time.”
I’m curious now when it happened, but I know Tiller well enough to know even this conversation we’re having is pushing it. He’s secretive as hell. “So how’d you find out she’s a virgin?”
“Was. Past tense. And she told me. Covered her face with her hands, crying, and said, ‘You took my virginity.’ Kind of a dead giveaway.”
“You didn’t rape her, did you?” Auden teases, but the word rape rips through my chest like a knife. I hate that word more than I hate the idea of someone taking their own life because life wasn’t what they thought it should be.
“Dude, no. I’m not an asshole, man.” But he doesn’t go into detail about what they did.
I don’t want to be talking about this again. Maybe it’s from my rapid heartbeat over the word rape, but the temperature in the house gets to me and I stare at the hole in the wall and themaybedead guy. He still hasn’t moved. “How’d the hole get there?” I ask, finishing the last of my own beer and standing up. I should go check on that guy. It’s hot outside. If he’s not dead, dude probably has heat stroke.
Lounged back on the couch again, another beer in hand, Tiller rolls his head to the side glancing at the hole. “Do you remember when I thought it’d be cool to have a fish tank in the wall?”
“No.”
He chuckles. “Well, maybe it was just me. But anyway, I started it and then got bored. DIY shit is hard work.”
I point to the guy on the patio and reach for the handle on the sliding glass doors leading outside. I could just crawl through the hole in the wall, but that’d be too much effort. “Do you think that guy’s dead.”
Tiller’s no longer interested in talking. His phone is in his hand and he’s probably lining up his next virgin or stripper to occupy his Ninja Turtle sheets with him tonight.
Outside, I check on the guy, who I think might be a neighbor. . . maybe. I’m not really sure. He’s just sleeping off a hangover from what I can tell so I toss a towel on his red back in hopes he won’t die tonight of heat stroke.
The blazing Southern California sun hits my neck, and I think about heading out to the track behind the house, maybe seeing if Auden wants to take the bikes out to let off some steam when my phone rings.
It’s Danny Howard. A representative for Red Bull.
Fuck. It’s my lucky day today.
“Hey, Dan,” I answer, my jaw tightening at the idea of having to explain myself to him.
I’m not a big fan of the political side of being a freestyle racer. The side that’s forced to you know, sit in meetings and discuss how I’ll represent their product, or how I’ll present myself. Or in this case, explain my behavior. I just didn’t give a fuck anymore.
“We’re thrilled you won. We need to talk about how you’re presenting yourself in public and your demeanor.”
He said a bunch of other shit to me, basically warning me that if I didn’t get my shit together, they’d be forced to look at pulling my sponsorship.
Honestly, I don’t think they would. They’d be making a huge mistake if they did. I know that’s cocky of me to think, but it’s just like me to think like that these days. I need knocking up the side of the fucking head.
I don’t remember what I said after the race. So upstairs, alone in my room, I sit down at the computer and pull up the highlights from the event, which to my surprise, didn’t include my interview. That was bad. Winner of the event and it wasn’t on the highlight reel.
YouTube helped me out.
After the event, they handed me a microphone. I’m not sure why anyone thought that would be a good idea. Probably because I had won. I wassupposedto talk about the win.
