I kept scrolling until I found the texts I’d sent to him two months ago.
Me:Hey, Baz. You changed your phone number again and forgot to tell me. But, as you know, I have my sources. Did you miss me?
Me:Would you like to know who gave me your phone number? I know you’re dying of curiosity. Just text me back and I’ll tell you, I swear. You’re one text away from finding out.
Me:You can’t ignore me forever.
Me:By the way, I went on a date yesterday. With a man. He reminded me of you, so I accepted his invitation. Are you jealous?
Me:Don’t worry. It didn’t work out. You’re still my number one.
It was the truth. I met a guy who reminded me of Bazooka, so I gave him a chance. He, too, had dark hair, but his was of a dull, umber shade, which reminded me of mud and bad weather. It couldn’t compare to the vibrant chestnut shade of Bazooka’s hair, and it didn’t seem even remotely as soft. The guy’s eyes, which seemed gray at first, weren’t gray at all, but kind of poopy brown. Bazooka had beautiful eyes, gray like the fog curling around a haunted English manor, and yes, they made me spout poetry on occasion. Bazooka look-alike also had a beard like Bazooka, but it wasn’t as neat or even remotely as kissable. So, yeah, it didn’t work out.
The last texts I’d sent to Bazooka were a month old.
Me:I know you’re straight, but texting me back won’t make you gay, you know?
Me:By the way, my birthday is one month from now. What will you get me?
Me:I don’t need presents per se. A kiss is fine.
Me:Will you ever text me back?
Me:If you don’t, I’ll just keep on bothering you. You know I will.
Me:Because I like you.
Me:Although you don’t like me.
Granted, I was drunk when I sent him that; otherwise, I wouldn’t have served him those words on a platter. The words he didn’t deserve, not after not texting me one freaking time.
“Yo, homo! You forgot to put on lipstick.”
The offensive words made me look up as Dakotah returned to the table, red in the face from embarrassment.
“The line wassoolong,” he mumbled, keeping his gaze on the table. “Um… is there more cake? Also, this shirt was probably a bad idea. Too silky, maybe?”
The stinky foursome laughed at the crude joke one of them delivered, and it made me lose it.
“Yo, asshole!” I bellowed, glaring at the red-haired jock who had offended my friend. “You forgot to put a ball gag in your mouth. Shut the fuck up.”
He and his three pals looked wasted and dangerous, but what the hell?
The toothless asshole stood up with his fists clenched.
“You’re going to get pummeled tonight, birthday boy,” he growled, as his friends stood up as well. “You should shut your mouth if you want to live to see another birthday.”
“I’m not afraid of you, you homophobic prick,” I said, ignoring my friends who were shushing me. “By the way, if you like me, you could have just said so. Not stare at me the entire evening as if I’m a human hamburger.”
“That’s it, you’re dying,” the asshole hissed, stomping toward me when Ruby stood in his way.
“Not in this bar, pal. If you want to fight or offend people, do it elsewhere. One more word from you and I’m calling the police. The station is a block away, by the way.”
The jock and his goons returned to their table, but the way he glared at me told me he was far from calming down.
When my phone pinged again, my heart somersaulted in my chest. Maybe it was… no, just a text from an acquaintance.
“Luz,” Alain said with a sigh. “If Bazooka hasn’t texted you in three months, he never will. Come on! You can have anyone you want, from here to New Mesa. This fixation is just… unhealthy.”
