Girl Crush(27)

I might have stared in the mirror all night, but my phone rang, and when it went unanswered, the text messages started. Veronica was the only person who had the audacity to be so obnoxious—I’d tried to teach her cell-phone etiquette, but she was still the patron in the restaurant talking loudly enough for everyone else to hear. And in her mind, since a cell phone belonged to one person and not a household, it was perfectly acceptable to call said phone at any time, day or night, because she wouldn’t disturb anyone else.

I hopped off the counter and stopped to pull on a tank top and pair of night shorts before finding my cell. Collier and Ronnie were the only two people who’d known I had a date tonight, and it wasn’t Ronnie. A smile crept across my lips at the thought of his reaching out to check on me. It was tempting not to respond, make him wait, but it dawned on me—he thought I dug women. He wasn’t asking in hopes it hadn’t gone well, he was asking just to be nice. I refused to acknowledge my lady-luck, so I told him I had fun and asked if he’d ever been to roller derby. Men were like toddlers, it took very little to draw their attention away from the subject at hand.

Before I finally passed out, he invited me to a pool party at his house tomorrow afternoon. His friends had liked me and were all coming back around two. Beck and Stella would be there, along with the guys I’d met earlier, but that was where the guest list stopped. I’d planned to hang out at Ronnie’s house, but finagled an invite for her and Trish, and committed to seeing him then.

The next morning, I slept later than I should have. Five miles in the heat of the summer at six o’clock was quite different than nine…by a solid twenty degrees. By the time I got home, I was covered in sweat, and my clothes stuck to my body. After a shower, I put on a swimsuit, then clothes over it, and packed a bag for the pool. Having a guy friend I didn’t care about impressing was a nice shift, but whether I’d given up peen or not, I would rock a bikini by the pool.

I didn’t bother calling Ronnie. I’d have better luck convincing her to tag along in person. And there was a better chance of her going if I invited Trish. It was conniving, but I liked to get my way, and this pretty much ensured I would. To my surprise, neither hesitated. Trish and Ronnie jumped at the chance to meet West…and Beck. Although, neither made it a secret their interest lay in Collier’s potential.

“You two do remember he thinks I drink from the horn of plenty, right?”

Veronica rolled her eyes, and Trish burst out laughing.

“Gizzy, can you please just call it a vagina?”

“That’s such an ugly word.”

“But bubble gum by the bum isn’t?” Her sarcasm was unbecoming.

“That’s not one of mine.”

“Yes, it is. You used it last Tuesday.”

I quirked my face in a go-fuck-yourself expression. “Point is still the same. He thinks I prefer girls.”

“Clearly, he doesn’t care, or he wouldn’t have invited you over.” Trish had walked out of the room to get towels and sunscreen, leaving the two of us standing here to bicker about Sybil the man.

“Or maybe he likes having a female around he can watch sports with or hang out by the pool and indulge in a six-pack without having to worry she’s after his money. I don’t know what his deal is, V. All I know is I had fun with his friends yesterday, and the pool is open to my friends and me today.” I shrugged. “Plus, you get to meet his sister.”

“Oh, yeah. Can you make sure you point out where she sat naked on the couch so I can avoid that particular spot?”

“No one thinks you’re funny, Ronnie.” She was, though. Hysterically so. Her dry wit and sarcastic banter kept me on my toes and in stitches…normally.

Ignoring my comment, she asked, “So how was your date last night?”

“Friend zone with Beck.” My voice was monotone to illustrate my disinterest in this topic. She wouldn’t be captivated by roller derby, and I wasn’t ready to hear her shit about my getting lost in the lower lips of my lady friend.

“I think you’re going to end up with a lot of that.”

“Have you ever looked at your pud pocket?”

“What the hell is a pud pocket, Giselle?”

I raised my brows and made eye contact with her shorts.

“It’s like you’re five. Where do you come up with this shit?”

“Focus! Have you?”

“Doesn’t every woman?”

“Clearly, since I’m asking the question, no, they do not.”

“Didn’t you ever see the Vagina Monologue? Spend an hour with your vagina in the mirror?”

My face went blank. I refused to even say the word much less go see a show that focused on it for two hours. “They’re gross.”

“Not all of them.”

“Yeah, Ronnie—all of them. They either look like roast beef or chewed-up Doublemint. I don’t know where porn stars get those tight little love nooks, but that is not real life.”

“Do you think penises are better looking?”

I hadn’t thought about that. The shaft was nice fully erect…when it wasn’t hooked to the side, or uncircumcised, but balls, pubic hair—just as gross as poochika. Yet somehow, I’d managed to get around the masculinity of nuts because of the pleasure that came in the package.