Page 79 of No Saint
“She’s eighty-five years old.”
“Senior cougar, excuse me.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“You’re the one who was all up in Miss Smith’s musty-dusty-muff buffet.”
“Fuck off.”
Miss Smith was one of our high school teachers. She flirted with half of the guys, and Hendrix had been convinced I’d hooked up with her. I hadn’t. I’d just let his demented head run wild for my own entertainment.
“Better option than Weirdo.”
When I looked away from the screen to glare at him, he took the opportunity to blow my avatar’s head off.
“See! Just the mention of that Medusa’s name and you lose all focus.”
“That’s not her name.”
He whacked the side of my head. “You need to?—”
I nailed him in the stomach so hard he doubled over on a cough. “Fine, you want to abuse me because I’m trying to help you. She fucked you up, man. Taking all your dreams and shitting all over them.”
“I’m not doing anything with Jade.”
“Did you or did you not get suspended from the team because you knocked out her boyfriend?”
“Ex-boyfriend. And if you met the guy, you’d punch him.”
Frowning, he cracked a pretend whip. “Whippah, Wolf. Whip-the-fuck-ah.”
The stairs behind the living room wall creaked. “Stop being a cocksucker, Hendrix.” Zepp, Hendrix’s older brother, rounded the corner, lighting a cigarette.
Hendrix paused the game. “At least I had the decency not to be balls deep in a redhead when this sack of shit,” he thumbed at me, “showed up.”
Zepp cracked a smile. “If you were balls deep in my redhead, we’d be having your funeral.”
“You disgust me.”
Ignoring his brother, Zepp moved around the couch, so I stood up, and he clapped his arm around my back. “Good to see you, man.”
“Yeah, you, too.”
“He’s bumping uglies with Jade again!” Hendrix shouted. “Talk some sense into him.”
Zepp lifted a brow at me. I swore, if he actually took Hendrix’s side…
“I’m not.”
“Wouldn’t matter if you were.”
Hendrix shot to his feet, both hands on his head like it was about to explode. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this crap.”
“Go jerk one off or something,” Zepp said, glaring at his brother. “You’re acting like a moody bitch.”
“I’m acting like a savior, you dickface.” He headed to the kitchen. “You don’t want to fix this crap. I will.” The fridge creaked open. The rattle of bottles sounded.
Zepp clapped a hand to my shoulder. “Wanna go with me to theWal-E-Mart—” he said that word extra loud—“to pick up a keg.”
