“Just lucky, I guess.” And that was the truth. That toothpaste was my brand. I’d gone ahead and tossed it in for later—when I convinced her we were friends and we had sleepovers—you know, the good kind.
With one last look and an innocent kiss to her cheek, I turned and made my way out of the store while she stood and looked after me.
“Reed!”
One last wave.
“Bye, Lola.”
I’ll be seeing you soon.
Studies Show that Smoreos Are More Addictive Than Drugs
My eyes paused on the screen. Wait…What? I loved Smoreos, especially Double-Stuffed Smoreos. No way in hell this is true. I clicked open the article immediately and started reading.
After a two-year-long study, the neuroscience department found that Smoreos triggered significantly more neurons in rats’ brains than cocaine did. This aided them in coming to their final result that the high-fat, high-sugar cookie could, in fact, be more addictive than cocaine.
Jesus. My favorite cookie is as addictive as cocaine?
What kind of sick world do I live in?
I groaned out loud, and a lady wearing a navy blue blazer sitting at the table across from mine glanced in my direction. Whoops. She wasn’t happy in the slightest, merely two seconds away from going librarian and shushing my ass. As I closed out the “Smoreos are the devil” article, I made a mental note to keep my audible groans to a minimum. I didn’t want to get the boot from one of my favorite coffeehouses in San Francisco.
Four Barrels had an eclectic, hipster vibe, and even though the animal heads hanging proudly on the walls came across as a tad sinister, I enjoyed coming here from time to time for their milk shakes. Sounded crazy, but they had amazing milk shakes, and their bakery selection would sway even the healthiest eaters to binge on sugar.
But I had to be in a certain mood, one that could ignore the display of death. I usually just told myself the lifeless boar staring down at me from his mahogany wood perch was actually enjoying the fact that I was relishing a sweet treat. Not the easiest accomplishment, but like I said, milk shakes and baked goods.
Plus, I was currently out of commission to skate…or bike…thanks to one embarrassing moment and a shooting pain right through the asshole. So I had to choose a coffeehouse within a reasonable walking distance. Four Barrels was only a few blocks from my place.
My roller skating melee outside of Gus’s had banged me up, and I was about ninety-nine percent certain it’d done it to the tune of a refractured tailbone. Nope, as much as I hated to admit it, this wasn’t my first go-round with a fractured ass thanks to an argument with a set of stairs a few years back.
Jesus, I mused. I think I might have a predisposition for injury.
If I wanted to keep on skating, I needed to find some padding for my ass. I had “butt padding” all typed into the search engine, but before I could push the “I’m feeling lucky” button, a new email notification flashed across my screen. Unable to deny my curiosity, I checked my inbox.
To: Lola Sexton
From: Reed Luca
Roller Skates,
How are you feeling today?
I read your column.
Your perspective on the best oral sex techniques was…interesting.
Sincerely,
Reed
Jesus. I’d come to Four Barrels in hopes that I could find some peace and quiet where no one could bother me, and yet the one person who bothered me the most still found a way to squash those hopes.
I groaned again, and the chick in the blazer flashed a glare in my direction. I offered an apologetic smile while mentally thinking, Put some fucking earbuds in if you don’t want to hear any noise around you. You’re in a public place with people, lady. Noise is going to occur.
I winced as I adjusted in my seat in preparation to fire back a response.
Seriously, never fracture your tailbone.
It hurts like a motherfucker.
I had to keep this email short and sweet…well, short and sour. I was not going to be pulled into his mousetrap of crazy conversation. Because, that was the thing about crazy, it came in the form of a circle without any fucking exits.
To: Reed Luca
From: Lola Sexton
I’m fine.
Stop calling me Roller Skates.
Perfect. I hit send and leaned back in my seat with a proud smile. But that smile only lasted for a few minutes.
To: Lola Sexton
From: Reed Luca
Just fine? I have a feeling you’re probably in rough shape after that fall. I hope you managed to see a doctor and get checked out.
Oh, and the nickname isn’t going anywhere, Roller Skates. I like it too much to stop using it.
P.S. If you’re really opposed, I could shorten it to Skeets. The double ee is the sound you made when you were wiping out.