Page 59 of Meet Hate Love
“So, you knew? And you didn’t tell me? What a dick move.” She cut the water and turned from the sink, blindly feeling around for a towel that was nowhere within her reach.
“The towels are behind the toilet.”
Huffing, she shuffled across the steam-filled bathroom, eyes still closed like she hadn’t used pictures of my dick—saved to her phone—to blackmail me less than a week ago.
“You should probably open your eyes,” I said.
“I’m fine.”
“It’s not like you haven’t seen my cock before, Blake.”
Her cheeks instantly reddened, and my dick grew a little harder as a result.
“Only on the internet.” She blindly stumbled a few more feet. “And I’m trying to—” Then she tripped. Her eyes flew open right before she face-planted the glass in front of my semi-hard dick, and her cheek squeaked down the glass. “This day is such shit.”
* * *
After I’d finishedup in the bathroom, Blake went to wash the rest of the “sky rat” shit from her hair.
I’d just zipped my luggage and placed my suitcase by the door when my phone rang.
Theo would like to video chat with you.
A grainy image of my best friend on what appeared to be a dark Manhattan street corner filled the screen. “Vance!” he slurred.
Shitfaced. Of course. What else would Theo be doing at three am East Coast time? “I swear to God, Theo. If that loan shark has come after you again for borrowing money, you’re on your own.”
“It’s not the loan shark. It’s—Holy hell, dude.” Squinting, he pulled the camera close to his face like that would help him see more clearly. “What happened to your nose?”
I glanced at the small image of myself at the top right of the screen. Yep, visibly swollen even to a drunk three-thousand miles away. “I got kicked in the face,” I said.
“By a horse?”
“No, by Blake.”
“Adrenaline Boner Girl?” He barked out a laugh. “She’s given you a black eyeanda busted nose.”
When I eventually fucked her, it wouldn’t surprise me if I ended up with broken ribs. Although that was a chance I would gladly take.
“Oh, no!” Theo dropped his phone to his side, putting nothing but a close-up of denim on the screen. A loud rattling noise came through the speakers, then the distinct thud of a fist on glass. “Why are you closed?”
“Theo, what in the hell are you doing?”
“I need to buy dry-erase markers.”
“At three am?”
“Yeah.” A blur of colors smeared the screen before he pulled the camera back to his face. “To get the permanent marker off the countertops.”
I lifted a brow. “The granite countertops? In our fucking apartment?”
He swiped a sloppy hand through the air before spinning around and falling back against the window of a CVS drugstore. “Look, I’m gonna get it off. I just—”
“Why the fuck were you drawing on the countertops?”
“Number Nine did it. She came over to talk about…” His expression went serious. “You know…”
“The fact that you’re still calling her Number Nine?” The guy was a lost cause. “What are you going to name the baby? Number Ten?”
