Someone to Love(33)
Molly yanks me in by the jacket. “Are you sleeping with my brother?” she asks, almost as an afterthought.
“No.” I pull my arm back. Grabby little thing. “Molly, you don’t have to sleep with someone to have a relationship with them.” That doesn’t change the fact I’ve made it my singular goal in life to bed Cruise Elton ten different ways before Valentine’s Day. That’s a personal ambition I don’t plan to make public anytime soon, especially not to his seventeen-year-old sister. “Sex isn’t a sport.”
A hurt look sweeps across her face. “I do it cause I like it.” She struts over to the front desk fueled with anger and attitude.
I pull up behind her as she writes her name down on the roster.
“Did you like the public boo-hoo fest you held in Starbucks?” I ask. “Because in case you haven’t figured it out, the asshole at point-A led to the bawling at point-B.” Maybe not the kindest tactic I could have employed, but something tells me Molly here isn’t the dainty flower she wants me to believe she is either.
She wrinkles her nose. “Look, I like Brayden. He’s special.” She rolls her eyes like he’s really not. “This thing he has with Tracy Tramp-Stamp Shaffer will blow over. It always does.”
“Oh my God, he’s done this before?” I take her in with her watery-blue eyes, her trembling chin like she might lose it right here in front of an entire waiting room of people infected with sore throats and STDs. Molly doesn’t say a word; she just stalks off and takes a seat in the back.
“Ma’am, would you mind signing in?” The gal behind the counter holds out a pen. “There’s a line forming behind you.”
“Oh.” I glance back at the angry mob waiting to accost me if I don’t move out of the way.
The pill? Should I be on the pill? Cruise and those heady kisses spiral through me, and I’m numb just thinking about them. Yes, I should very much be on the pill. I jot my name on the roster and find a seat next to Molly.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s a text from a number I don’t recognize.
Cruise here - set up a double date for tonight at seven. That OK?
Double date? Everything in me warms at the thought of officially “dating” Cruise. For sure I made the right decision to get on the pill.
Better than OK~!
I can’t wait to take my relationship with Cruise to the next level. And dating, well, I guess that throws my experiment out the window. I’m totally fine with that. I didn’t really like lying to him to begin with.
“So what do you think of my brother’s deformity?” Molly smirks before relaxing into an exaggerated sad puppy face. She’s a peach, this one.
“What deformity?” If Cruise is deformed, every man on this planet should be so lucky.
“You mean he didn’t tell you about his accident?”
“What accident?” A rush of heat explodes in my chest at the thought of anything happening to Cruise—past or present.
“He got his balls lopped off after eating it on a motorcycle when he was sixteen. Don’t worry, they saved one on ice and reattached it. He can have kids and stuff one day when he’s ready to pollute the world with his seed. Too bad it chopped his dick in half, though. Horrible disaster.” She clicks her tongue to annunciate her false sense of pity.
The memory of that bulge in his jeans comes to mind, and my face floods with heat. God, if that was half, he must have been the size of a snake. I swear it was as long as my arm, and I thought that was a deformity. Not that I believe one word out of his little sister’s not-so-precious mouth.
The only “horrible disaster” around here is Molly needing to be on the pill in the first place.
The nurse calls Molly and I to the back at the same time, and we each get stowed away in our own closet-like rooms. I take off my clothes and ready myself for a check-up. I secretly hate the gynecologist. I hate having myself sodomised in the name of medicine and vaginal wellbeing.
I lie back and examine the photos of some bodybuilder strewn across the wall. They’re all signed and everything. His frame looks freakishly large, and the muscles bulge from his body like a cloud made of flesh as if someone had blown them up like balloons. I try to imagine him lying over me, crushing me with his truck-like weight.
Rumor has it, pumping their muscles up like that is lethal to the size of their joystick.
A gentle knock erupts as the door slides open, and a tall, handsome man with a fake bake comes in flashing an ultra-bright smile. He’s completely buffed out. His muscles balloon from his shirt, and I can practically make out the curves from under his coat, and hey… It’s the same guy from the pictures.