Jameson
My phone buzzes in my pocket, notifying me that I have a message. I pull it out and take a deep breath before checking the screen. If it’s Lydia asking me when I’m coming home one more time, I might throw the fucking thing down a sewer grate. I like fucking as much as the next guy, but this is getting ridiculous. And boring. There was a time when I never thought I’d get tired of Lydia’s pussy, but it’s happened. I mean, I’ve been tired of her for a while, but her pussy is different. Pussy in general is different. Isn’t it?
“Something wrong?” Hennessey asks from across the garage bay. I open my mouth to ask him if we’re on the same page—that fucking a chick shouldn’t get old even if her personality has—but if I say it, then it becomes the truth, and I’m not ready for that yet. We’re over—I just have to figure out how to go about ending it. Hennessey’s a Hayes and he has a big mouth. Talking to one sibling about my crumbling relationship is one thing, but the second one of my siblings knows, they all know, and fuck that. So I look down at the screen and relax when I see Mel’s name and not Lydia’s. And that’s a few levels of fucked-up.
QUESTION, the text reads.
ANSWER, I reply. And I’m smiling like a fucking fool.
“Guess not,” H says as he walks by and elbows me in my ribs. He leans over my shoulder to read the screen, but I shove it back in my pocket just as it vibrates. He keeps walking and whistles as he says, “Tell Lyd I say hi.” Once he’s far enough away, I pull my phone back out and check the newest message that’s come through.
HOW MUCH DO YOU LIKE ME?
I pause and stare at the screen for so long that three new messages come through. Yeah, because that’s a question I can answer truthfully without being a real bastard.
CRAP. I MADE THAT AWKWARD.
ME+YOU+MOVIE=FUN
DON’T MAKE ME BEG.
I mentally answer all of her texts with the truth instead of typing them out. I like you more than I should. I like you enough to picture you when I’m fucking my girlfriend. I like you’re awkward. A lot. You’re always fun. Even when I’m only watching you and not getting to be part of the fun. The image of you begging gives me a semi.
Another text comes in, but this one isn’t from Mel. The alert bar at the top of my screen reads LYD. Without switching message threads, I start typing.
OK, I respond to Mel. It’s a knee-jerk reaction, one that scares me more than I’d like to admit. I don’t even know what Lydia has to say, but I don’t really care to. She’s been all over my dick the last few weeks. Jameson Junior needs a vacation. It’s just so damn hard to picture Mel with Lydia making so much noise.
FAB. I’LL ORDER PIZZA. BRING POPCORN.
Mel and I hash out the details. She suggests I arrive at six, but I work until seven, so we make it for seven-thirty. I kind of thought she meant a movie at a theater, not at her house. But I agreed, and even if this is a bad idea, I still want to see her. Maybe it’s because it is a bad idea that I want to go. I’m looking for an out, but I know deep down that I should just be getting out regardless of how or what happens to Lydia when I do.
I check Lydia’s text and do my best to make my apology seem genuine that I’m going to be missing the surprise she apparently has planned for me. It’s not a surprise, really. The emoji she included didn’t leave much to the imagination.
SORRY. OVERTIME. HOME LATE.
LOVE U, her text reads.
I don’t respond.