“What are you saying?” Ronnie asks with a raised eyebrow. “That you're going to get deported? Back to Australia? Does that even happen?” He runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head. “Um, okay. We can fix this, I'm sure. I … ” Ronnie pauses, like he's just thought of something. I keep staring at him, waiting for an answer to this problem. I shouldn't be surprised by what he says, but I am anyway. “Maybe we should … ” He swallows hard and scratches at the snake tattoos around his neck, letting his beautiful brown eyes slide over to me as his mouth twitches. “Lola, maybe we should get hitched?”
“So you, like, said marry me and I'll get ya a green card? That's super hot. I'm sure Lola pissed her pants in eagerness to accept that shit.” Turner lights up a cigarette and blows smoke at my face. I scowl at him and snatch my lighter back, enjoying the privacy of our new pad. Getting out of the hotel was a Goddamn nightmare – despite Milo's best efforts, they found us again and the swarm this time was epic. Based on the turnout, I have a feeling making that five figure fucking mortgage payment isn't going to be a problem. “Wait, wait,” he continues, taking another drag, “lemme guess. She was all 'Crikey, mate! That's bloody brilliant. Let's throw some shrimp on the barbie to celebrate.'”
“Your faux Australian accent is almost as bad as your Irish one – almost. And I'm pretty sure most people would find you ridiculously offensive.” I light up and tuck the lighter in my pants pocket. “Hell, I find you ridiculously offensive and we've been friends for-fucking-ever. Cool it, Arkansas, and keep your idiosyncrasies to yourself.” Turner scowls at me and flicks hot ash in my direction. “If you really did propose to Naomi – and I'm not passing judgment on that until she wakes up and tells me herself – then I doubt it was any smoother. In fact, I'd bet one of our mammoth mortgage payments that it was worse.”
“Yeah? Well, fuck you. You have too many kids. Get a fucking vasectomy before you get Lola pregnant.” I shake my head and look up at the brilliant blue of the sky. Speaking of, I really need to get tested. I mean, like, sooner rather than later.
“Let's make an appointment,” I say to Turner while we wait for the owner and her real estate agent to arrive. “Let's go get tested.”
“Tested?” Turner asks, recoiling with a strange expression on his face. “For what?”
“STIs,” I say and then sigh when he continues with the look of sheer bafflement. “Sexually transmitted infections.”
“What the fuck are you trying to say, man?” Turner growls, flicking his cigarette to the driveway and crushing it out with his boot. I notice Camby, the Barbie perfect real estate agent, cringe in the background. “That I'm, like, fucking diseased or some shit? I never forget to bring balloons to the party. You're the one that's always ramming chicks bareback. Go get your junk fondled by some doctor and prepare to see it on the front page of every news website in existence.”
“If you're even half as serious about Naomi as I am about Lola, you'll come with me and get checked out.” Turner looks away at the mention of Amatory Riot's lead singer and flicks his tongue across his lower lip in nervousness. As of an hour ago, Naomi's condition hadn't changed. Turner freaked the fuck out over that, but I think at this point, no news is good news. At least she's not getting worse. I look up at the sky again and wish I had a God I trusted that I could pray to.
“Fine. Whatever. But I bet you're the only one of us with anything. Hopefully you don't have the herp.”
“The … herp?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at my friend.
“Yeah, the herp,” Trey says, rolling up his wheelchair to sit beside us. I was with Lola last night, so I didn't get to be there when Turner delivered the news about the mansion, but Jesse and Treyjan have always been on whatever train Turner's intent on riding. If he's happy, they're happy. End of story. “Herpes. You have herpes, dude?”
“Herpes?” I jump and turn to find Lola staring at me with wide eyes and an open mouth. “Oh, fuck, Ronnie. If you gave me that shit, I will job your arse.” I hold up my hands in a placating gesture and let my cigarette hang loosely from my lips.
“Okay, fuck, that I know I don't have. I was just saying it's always good to get tested. Jesus.” Lola breathes a sigh of relief, leaning against the car and taking deep breaths. I tried to get her to use the wheelchair, but she wouldn't do it. Too much pride. I feel a smile creep over my lips. After I essentially asked her to marry me, she got red faced and started sputtering. I have no idea what to make of that, but I can promise if somebody tries to ship my new lady overseas, there could very well be a shirtless ass kicking.