“Yeah, I ordered the damn pizza. Why’re you hiding in here?” I gesture at the familiar room—black drapes, black bedspread with white skulls. “What’s gotten up your ass?”
“Interested in my ass suddenly, are you?” He shoots a crooked grin at me, and I’m momentarily speechless. He didn’t notice me watching today, did he?
I mean, whatever. Dudes stare at each other all the time. Comparing dicks and shit.
“I’m interested in your ass planted in the chair in front of the TV so that I can kick it playing,” I clarify. “Wasn’t that what we said we’d do?”
“Sure.” He shrugs one shoulder. “I was just gonna grab a sweater. It’s chilly in there.”
Chilly? Is he fucking with me? It’s summer. We’re in T-shirts. I have no fucking clue what’s going on here, but I let it slide for now, because it’s Jet, and sooner or later he’ll spill.
Has to. We’re like brothers, dammit. Fucker will let me in all the fucking way someday, I just know it. I only need to be patient.
Like now.
So I don’t push him more. Instead, I grab his arm and yank him to his feet. “Pizza. Video game. Beer.”
“Now we’re talking,” he mutters and gamely lets me haul him out of his room and drop him on our worn couch. “Where’s the pizza?”
Have I mentioned that occasionally I want to strangle the idiot?
“I literally just called. Give it a fucking minute, will ya?”
“Did you get the one with the anchovies that I—”
“Yes, Jesus fuck, Jet, I know what you like, okay? Sit tight, pizza’s on its way.”
He relaxes marginally into the cushions, that crooked grin making another appearance, and something inside my chest unwinds.
Everything’s fine. A usual evening in the J&J household. This is my home, even more so than the one I grew up in. Don’t get me wrong. I love my parents, and my sister, but I never felt at ease there.
Here, with Jet, I do. With pizza on the way, video games to be played, Jet’s eyes lighting up with mischief as he grabs the controls, and despite the sharp sliver of the memory of her—the sexy girl at the bookstore—this is gonna be a damn good evening.
I want to see her again.
The thought fills up my mind, expands and contracts, randomly flashes through my thoughts like a light saber as I go through my day at work.
It shouldn’t. I shouldn’t. I should be fucking focused on learning and on making a good impression. I breezed through college on my scholarship and sports and fun, and treated my business studies as a necessary evil.
Well, now the evil has taken over my life. Okay, it’s not that bad, but finding the requisite excitement is tough. Landing a job at a multimillion corporation with branches everywhere in the world is a good thing. Even if my tasks are limited to secretarial stuff so far. Write letters. Type up stuff. Make photocopies. Make phone calls.
Hey, it will get better. I will be given more responsibilities, climb the ladder, learn more about the company and its goals. I know it’s my first job, and time is of the essence. Patience, is what my parents keep telling me. And they’re right.
But when was I ever known for my patience?
And when was I interested in oil, natural gas and investments? I love running, playing video games with Jethro, chasing chicks, reading about ancient history, checking on my little sister—who’s not so little anymore, as she often reminds me—and cooking.
Hey, sometimes when thinking bogs me down, doing something with my hands helps. I sort of switch off, and at the end of it, there’s something good to eat, too. Win-win.
Besides, I’m in charge of feeding Jethro, who often forgets that breathing isn’t enough sustenance. Fucker owes me. I hope he appreciates it.
Speaking of doing something with my hands… Even better would be to use them on the girl at the bookstore. Why didn’t I ask her name? Why didn’t I ask her out?
Next time. I’m going back, and I’ll do what Jet said. I’ll win her over.
I grin as I get up and march down the corridor between offices to the printer, to collect my letters. Nia waves at me from the reception desk and adjusts her cleavage. Girl’s got impressive tits, and a pretty face, but I’m not interested. I hope she’ll get the message one day.
Jimmy nods at me, mimics having coffee, and I shrug. He’s nice, but he’s coming on too hard. Wouldn’t be the first time, and Jet always fucking laughs at me when that happens. Well, fuck it. I’m not into guys. Only chicks do it for me.
Speaking of chicks… I may need more books. About cooking, and sports, world history, and just about anything, probably. As long as a certain pigtailed girl with glasses can help me out… I wonder if she plays videogames, if she likes fantasy. Maybe history, too?
I stop so suddenly outside the printer room I almost fall over.
What the fuck? I’ve never given a chick more thought than how to take her clothes off as fast as possible. Do it fast, get off fast, walk out and forget about it. Why am I so curious about her? I’ve only met her once. She wasn’t even dressed in anything sexy.
Her hair was in pigtails, for chrissakes.
I’d tug on them. Lift her short skirt. Spank her ass. Tell Jet to hold her while I go down on her and—
Fucking shitballs. What’s wrong with me these days? Tell Jet to hold her—to be there? This is sick.
It’s got to stop. If I don’t, I may need therapy, or someday Jet will find out about these new twisted fantasies of mine, and he’ll be out the door before you can say banana.
Also, I should stop thinking of bananas. Even if Jet likes them. Because guys shouldn’t like phallic-shaped fruit, okay? Not straight guys, anyway.
And I’m as straight as a one-way road, for all the good it does me. I haven’t been out with a chick since forever. Haven’t had sex since fuck knows when. My dick has probably shriveled and fallen off, and I didn’t even notice.
Checking nobody is looking, I pat my package, reassured to feel my dick is still there. Phew. Maybe it was the stress of finishing college, the small crisis I had, and the new job. Well, it’s time to remedy that. Time to—
Oh shit. Oh SHIT, the manager is staring right at me through the room window, a scowl on his face, and my hand… my hand is still on my crotch.
And I think, goddamn fuck, not again.
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Zane
Inked Brotherhood 3
They call me Zen-man, the cool-headed one, the protector. I keep an eye out for everyone, take them in, find them homes. They think I’m the calm and collected one, the self-assured one, the one who knows the way. They think they see me. They think they know me.