After the call with Violet, I find an all-you-can-eat buffet and gorge. Then I drive to Toronto to pick up Randy. While I’m waiting for his flight, I mess around on social media. Bushman has been tagging Sunny in pictures. She and Lily are sitting at the table in the backseat, arms around each other with big grins. There’s another one of Sunny with her face right next to Bushman’s scruffy beard, holding up a bag of those damn kale chips. I hate him and his stupid name.
I add comments to the posts on her wall, so Bushman knows I’m watching his ass. I want to message Sunny about the whole four-year thing, but I don’t want to rock an already rocky boat. None of the pictures being posted so far are a problem, but it’s just the drive there. Who knows what other shit is going to happen as the week progresses.
Randy’s all smiles and “fuck yeah, camping!” when I pick him up. I try not to let my crap mood ruin his. He reclines his seat and adjusts his baseball cap. He’s like a walking billboard for Chicago.
“So? How was the weekend with Sunny? I figured it couldn’t have gone too bad since I only heard from you once.”
I struggle to maintain a neutral expression. “It was good.”
“Just good? Come on, Miller, give up the details. You’ve been radio silent all weekend. Did you finally get some action or what?”
In the past we’ve traded bunny stories. When Sunny and I first started seeing each other, I may have given Randy and some of the other guys the impression I’d sealed the deal. It wasn’t like I out and out lied about it, more that I omitted the details. Vi ripped a strip off of me for that. I saw her point. While it was unheard of for me to not get action, it made sense that I wouldn’t want to paint Sunny with the bunny brush. Especially since she’s Waters’ sister, and he’d probably castrate me with his hockey stick if he found out.
He’s chopped me in the shins a couple of times in the past month when we’ve played rec after workouts. He also got me good in the kidneys. That one hurt. I was sore for a couple of days. If he knows I’m sexing with Sunny, that stick is going to be aimed directly at my balls.
The GPS pipes up and tells me to get on the 401 East. I follow the signs, avoiding an answer.
“Miller?”
“’Sup?”
“You gonna answer or what?”
“We had a good time. Let’s leave it at that.”
“Oh, shit. You didn’t bang her? How fucking blue are your balls right now?” He pulls out his phone.
“What are you doing?” The traffic here is nuts. People cut across lanes without even looking. There are signs everywhere and assholes going ninety in the slow lane, then cutting in, forcing everyone behind them to slam on their brakes.
He’s thumb typing, and he hasn’t shut the sound off, so I hear every annoying click. “Texting Lance.”
“What the hell for?”
He stops typing to talk. “Because I owe him a case of beer.”
“For what?”
“I lost the bet.” He’s got that cocky grin going again.
“Bet?”
“Yeah. I bet him a case of beer you’d be able to get Sunny to ride your dick, and he bet me you’d * out.”
I slap his phone out of his hand, knocking it to the floor. In the process I swerve and cut into the lane next to me. A chick in a sporty BMW honks and flails her hands.
“Dude! What’s your damage?” He goes to pick up his phone, but I crossbar him with a forearm to the neck.
“Text Lance and I’ll leave you on the side of the highway.”
“I won’t. Jesus, man, what’s going on with you? What happened? Did you and Sunny get into a fight? I figured you’d smooth things over like you usually do with the bunnies.”
“Sunny’s not a bunny.” The rhyme irritates me.
“I know that.”
I run a hand through my hair and give him the side eye. “You wanna make bets on the bunnies, you go right ahead. But don’t bring Sunny into your bullshit. She’s not some slutbag I’m trying to pull a fuck-and-chuck on.”
Randy settles back in his seat when I withdraw my arm. “I know that, man, but you know how Lance is; everything’s a game for him.”
“You’d think it was obvious at this point that I’m serious about Sunny.”