Page 27 of Pour Decisions
“A space shuttle? To where?” I choke back giggles. “Penis Planet?”
“I don’t know.” He tries to shape it and add bits to it, but it only makes it look worse, somehow.
“What does a space shuttle have to do with pleasure anyway?” I ask through my laughter..
“I like space, but sculpting the void of it is outside of the scope of this…whatever we’re doing.” He glances around the class.
“Two more minutes on this prompt, everyone,” Hugh says.
“Y’know what, fuck it.” JD puts some dots of clay on the side, which I assume are supposed to be windows on the dong-ship. “Close enough.”
“There we go.” I smooth some petals together so it looks vaguely like a rose. “Releasing that perfectionism.”
“Is that what we’re calling this?” JD asks.
Hugh cruises around the room, his eyes red, surveying our work. His eyes lock onto JD’s.
“It’s so…” Hugh tilts his head to the side, like it’s going to look like anything other than a giant dong. “Expressive. Bold.”
JD gives Hugh a look, one eyebrow raised. No one has ever been less amused than JD is right now.
“It looks like a massive penis,” JD says, his tone dry.
I snort wine through my nose so hard that I start coughing. Hugh pats me on the shoulder, which doesn’t help at all.
“Yes. I can see that.” Hugh nods, tilting his head to the side as if he’s never seen anything like it before. “Truly bold. Literal. I like it. It deserves to be enshrined forever.”
Before JD can stop him, Hugh takes the piece and puts it on the tray for the kiln. JD’s mouth opens, but he closes it.
“You’re going to have a weird phallic space shuttle sculpture in your house,” I say.
“You’re assuming I won’t toss it into the closest dumpster.”
“I’ll keep it. Forever.” I grin.
And he smiles back, the slightest tinge of pink across his high cheekbones.
CHAPTER NINE
KATRINA
“I needsomething to soak up this booze,” I say as we step into the cool night air. “That wine was so not a flight.”
My limbs have that warm, heavy feeling to them that wine gives me. It’s been a while since I’ve been tipsy and happy at the same time. Recently it’s been wine and pity parties on the couch.
“There’s a diner up the street.” JD nods at a point past my head. “We can walk there.”
“Perfect.”
We start walking, close enough that our arms brush a little bit. Just that little touch makes my heart flutter all over my chest. It shouldn’t, but I’m giving myself a little grace. Seeing those glimpses of the old JD—the one with the dry sense of humor who’s so easy to talk to—I forgot how intoxicating being the center of his attention is.
We reach the diner and the host, a teenager with an eyebrow ring, puts us in a booth at the back. The style of the diner is vintage, but it’s too clean to be truly old. Plus, if it were here ten years ago, we would have gone. I love breakfast food.
“Should I get sweet or savory?” I ask him, scanning the menu. There’s standard diner fair, plus some specials like peach cobbler waffles.
“I’m getting sweet,” he says, closing the menu.
Back when we were together, him getting something sweet (which was usually the case when we went out) meant me getting savory so we could taste each other’s food. But eating off his plate feels too intimate, as much as I want just a taste of two different things.
