I hesitated, but thinking things through wasn’t my strong suit, so I decided to go all in.
Me:Are you still hard?
The three dots appeared and disappeared. Appeared. Disappeared.Torturing me.
Bazooka (the love of my life):Do your fingers still smell of cum?
Fuck. Me.
Yesterday, I promised myself not to be a clingy wreck. I promised myself I would back off, but that was yesterday. This was a whole new ball game.
Momentarily putting my personal drama on hold, I looked at Jordan.
“How did this come about?” I said, pointing my chin at his black eye.
He scoffed. “Markland got drunk and fell asleep in my bed. When he saw me there in the morning, he punched me. I punched him back. End of story.”
I dragged my hand down my face. “Why do you let him do this to you, Jordie? And why do you keep pining after this guywhen he doesn’t give a shit about you? Not to mention that he’s an ass.”
“I’m not pining after him,” Jordie mumbled, avoiding my gaze. “I’m asexual, remember?”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re in love, you moron. And judging by the way you’re looking at him, you’re anything but asexual. But he doesn’t deserve you, so find someone better.”
After Jordan left for work, I took a shower. I put on my new green blouse and jeans that made my butt look awesome. Fine, it always looked awesome. A touch of concealer under my eyes, but other than that, I looked perfect. I would fuck myself, to be perfectly honest. I also slipped lube into my back pocket in case Bazooka got rid of the one I’d left in his apartment. Presumptuous? Maybe, but I was a confident guy, so fuck it.Que sera, sera.
When I called Jordan, I was too anxious for words.
“Is he there?” I whispered as soon as he answered. “Don’t let Baz know who’s calling you.”
“He has a day off. Relax.”
Okay. That was good, right? No, that was great. But was he at home? Where else would he be?
I hurried out of the apartment and ran down the stairs. Once on the street, I headed toward the military-looking person dressed in civilian clothes who was hiding behind the newsstand.
“Hey,” I said when I reached him. “What’s your name?”
He gulped, looking like someone who had just stepped into a pile of poop.
“Vincent,” he replied.
“It’s lovely to meet you, Vincent. Can you give me a ride?”
And so it happened that my bodyguard, Vincent, proved himself useful for once and drove me to Bazooka’s place.
“Thanks, Vincent,” I said when we reached our destination. “I’ll be seeing you around.”
I looked up at the balcony that belonged to Bazooka’s apartment. My heart swelled with joy, but then I got nervous. Now that I was here, I wasn’t sure it was such a good idea. Then again, Baz said I could visit him, so why not, right?
By the time I reached his flat, I was panicking. When I rang the doorbell, no one answered, and my heart sank. I considered the possibility that he’d seen me through the peephole and decided not to let me in, but it wasn’t his style. I rang again, when a thought crossed my mind that made me freeze in fear. What if Mendoza got to him? What if he sent his goons after Bazooka? What if they were inside, beating Baz up while I stood here like an idiot?
I pulled the key to the apartment out of my pocket (because I never returned it to him) and unlocked the door. Slowly, I opened it, only to feel something cold pressing against my temple.
“Move and you’re dead.”
I froze on the spot. Literally. I couldn’t move. Or breathe.
“It’s me,” I squeaked. “Don’t shoot.”
