“Dude, do you have any idea how hard it was to find a chick willing to pretend to be your girlfriend for the evening? This was the best I could do on short notice. What’s wrong with her? She’s hot,” Tyler says as we both look over the hood of the car to find her staring at us.
“What’s wrong with her is that I used to date her. And she’s psychotic. Plus, my mom hates her. If she finds out I spent a night with her, even if it’s pretend, she is going to lose her shit.”
The her in question is Brooklyn Daniels. We went to school together from kindergarten through high school, and I dated her for exactly two weeks in eleventh grade. By day three I had met everyone in her family, including an aunt and uncle who flew in from Turks and Caicos just to meet me. By day ten she’d given me three photo albums filled with pictures of herself. No, not her and I together, just her. Pictures that to this day still burn my retinas when I think about them. Where was I? Oh, yes. By day eleven she’d tattooed my initials on her lower back, by day twelve she’d given me a wedding scrapbook filled with bridal magazine clippings of what she wanted our wedding to look like, and by day fourteen she’d suggested that we go to couple’s counseling because she thought I didn’t value her. By day sixty-eight she was history.
Yes, we only dated for two weeks, but it took fifty-two days after that for her to get the memo. Brooklyn Daniels is a stage five clinger. I almost had to move to get her to leave me alone. The only thing that worked was having my mom show up at her job at the local ice cream shop where she told Brooklyn that if she didn’t leave me alone, she’d shove so many sugar cones up her ass that she’d be burping up chocolate and vanilla twist for the rest of her life.
“Can we go inside now? I need a drink.”
Tyler and I continue to stare at her across the top of the car. She seems normal right now. Maybe things have changed and she’s not bat shit crazy anymore. I mean, we all do stupid things in high school, right? She’s twenty-five years old now. She’s probably matured.
Brooklyn walks around the front of the car and comes up next to me, linking her arm through my elbow.
“It’s nice to see you again, Gavin. So, what are we going for tonight? A little jealousy or total annihilation?”
“Jealousy.”
“Make the bitch cry!” Tyler and I inform her at the same time.
“Well okay then. How about somewhere in the middle? Are you okay with that?” Brooklyn asks as we walk toward the door of Wolfey’s.
“Nothing over the top. I just want Charlotte to get a tiny bit jealous and maybe see me differently.”
“False. You need to make Charlotte think he’s a sex God. So talk about his penis a lot,” Tyler informs her.
Trying not to blush with embarrassment, I smack Tyler on the arm. “We do not have to follow the list exactly. No talking about my penis.”
Brooklyn nods as Tyler opens the door for us. “Got it. No problem.”
“I really appreciate you doing this for me, Brooklyn. I know we didn’t end on the best of terms, and I apologize for my mom throwing chocolate sprinkles in your eye.”
We make our way through the crowd of people to the back of the bar and the group of tables where the gang always sits.
“Really, it’s fine. No hard feelings at all. That was a long time ago, and I’m a different person now.”
I breathe a sigh of relief at her words and try not to be nervous when I see Charlotte standing next to Ava, staring right at us.
This is going to work. It’s totally going to work.
THIS IS NOT WORKING AT ALL! CODE RED!
“Gavin, let’s go into the bathroom so you can stick it in my ass again like last week. That was sooooooo good,” Brooklyn slurs as she wraps her arms around my neck and drapes her body across my chest.
I try to shush her so she stops talking so loudly but that just makes it worse.
“GAVIN HAS AN AMAZING PENIS!” Brooklyn screams over the sounds of music and people.
For the most part tonight, no one has paid much attention to Brooklyn, which I think is part of the problem. She wants people to notice her. I just want her to sit next to me quietly and pretend to be a nice, sweet girlfriend. The first time I whispered that suggestion in her ear, she reached under the table and squeezed my nuts in a death grip. Obviously my recommendation wasn’t pleasing to her ears.