Shark Out of Water (Grab Your Pole, #3) (23 page)

It didn’t really work.

“I find it
really
hard to believe that you’ve been practicing this whole time…I mean didn’t you guys take at least
one
break where you could’ve call—”

Enough of this shit. I took her face in both of my hands and cut her words off the only other way I know how. If making her laugh isn’t gonna fly tonight, at least I can still shut her up with a kiss, right?

When I pulled away, I brushed her hair back from her face so she could see my eyes clearly and said, “Look, it’s been a long day, my fingers hurt, I’m tired, I’m hungry, but I’m here. And I’m only gonna stay for maybe an hour, so can we
please
not fight about why it took me so long to get here and just enjoy each other while I am?”

“
An hour?
But, we haven’t spent hardly
any
time with each other lately and now you’re gonna leave in an hour?
Why?
I mean, don’t you wanna be with me?”

“Yeah, Melissa, I do, but I don’t feel like partyin’…I’ve got two gigs tomorrow and I still have to restring one of my guitars and go over some piano and that violin piece before the first one so it’s gonna be an even longer fuckin’ day than today was and, honestly, I really just wanna get something to eat, go home and play a video game or watch some TV and chill, but I wanted to see you first.”

It’s not a lie, she’s right…we really haven’t spent a whole lot of actual time together lately and I do wanna see her, which is partly why I’m here at all. But when she got all teary on me, I wanted to kick myself for saying anything about what I’m planning on leaving her to go do. It’s not all that cool to tell your girlfriend you’d rather eat Jack-in-the-Box and watch re-runs of
South Park
than drink beer and hang out with her at a party.

“Sexy, come on…please don’t. Hey, why don’t you come over and stay the night…you haven’t done that in weeks…we can get a movie or something on Netflix. I’ll even watch whatever lame-ass chick flick you want and I’ll try to not over salt the popcorn. What’dya say, come home with me?”

She was still a little weepy but she was finally smiling, so I heaved a big sigh of relief for making it through the hoop without completely catching my tail on fire, and I really started looking forward to my reward of bland popcorn, some lame touchy-feely movie, and a whole night spent with just my girl when she said, “I can’t. I really,
really
want to, but, I’m co-captain…I really should stay for the whole party, you know? Plus the rest of the squad is staying the night…”

Fuck!

“You know what? Bullshit. You’re gonna fuckin’ watch
Dear John
or some other shitty movie with me,” I snapped. Then I picked her up and carried her through the house as she giggled her shocked protests and her goodbyes to the spectators.

The moral of the story? Don’t fuck with a hungry tiger who just performed for you and doesn’t give a flying fuck how he gets his goddamned reward. The fuckin’ circus can kiss this tiger’s furry, striped ass…

Pillow talk ~ Jeff

“Well, that’s one way to do it, and personally, I’m a big fan of that method…” Tristan said with a chuckle to Brandon as he was on his way out with Melissa over his shoulder.

“Way to embrace the pain, bro…you flush?” Brandon stopped and asked while Melissa shouted goodbye to Camie who was all the way in the kitchen getting a piece of cake.

Tristan watched her every move as she cut herself a piece and took the first bite, then he looked back at Brandon and said, “Nah, the demons had a hankerin’ for devil’s food, or…something. You?”

“Ringling Brothers bullshit, popcorn, or…something,” Brandon answered as he looked at Melissa’s cheer skirt-clad ass on his shoulder almost like he wanted to take a bite out of it.

“Something, huh?” Tristan asked with an interested and amused smirk.

“Eh, maybe just a little,” Brandon replied, using a swollen and calloused finger and thumb to measure out about an inch and then he hefted Melissa a little to readjust her weight. “Well, we’re outta here…stay out of the blue, dude, and tell the devil and that joystick I said they can go fuck themselves. Later, you guys,” he said, knocking knuckles with Tristan who was nodding in complete, unquestionable understanding and then Brandon casually continued on his way to the door.

I looked at Pete to see if he’d been able to follow
any
of that any better than I had and while I thought he might’ve gotten the gist of maybe what Trist was saying, he hadn’t. He just shrugged his shoulders and shook his head a little to let me know we were both in the same WTF was that about boat.

“Flush? Stay out of the blue? Dude, care to explain?” Pete asked him as we all watched Keith give Brandon’s back the evil stank eye as Brandon walked out the front door while Melissa waved to MaryAnn who was giving her a thumbs up.

“Keith should really give that up…do you guys think Camie’s insecure?” Tristan abruptly asked us, completely ignoring Pete’s question and causing him to look at Tristan with crossed eyes and then mime blowing his brains out.

Seriously though, Tristan’s topic hopping is something I’ve spent
years
learning how to flow with. It’s gotten a lot better and he’s not quite as random as he used to be, but still. I like to think of going along with his arbitrary tangents as an acquired skill. A skill I automatically put to use by simply answering his question. “Only because she’s young and inexperienced.”

Although I didn’t mean it that way, I swore to myself when Tristan shot me an uncomfortable look. So in thinking I’d unintentionally reminded Trist about the pretty big age difference between him and Camie and all the rest that goes along with that, I wasn’t expecting it when I discovered it was Pete’s feathers that I’d actually ruffled.

“What the
fuck
does age have to do with
anything
? I mean I’m not even four months older than she is, so does that make
me
fuckin’ insecure? Because I already put you on your fuckin’ overly confident ass once and I have
no
goddamned problem doin’ it again. Wanna see?” Pete asked with some obvious hostility.

“No, dude, that’s not what I meant at all…” Honestly, it really wasn’t. Pete is the
last
person I would ever call insecure. The dude seriously has more self-confidence than Trist and me put together. He’s just not as arrogant as Tristan or as obnoxious as I am in demonstrating that confidence. He is full of himself though, which, in my opinion, his gift has pretty much earned him the right to be so it’s kind of a wash. Plus, Pete
always
backs up his shit. Always.

“Want a shovel?” Tristan asked while he laughed at me and the hole I’d unintentionally started digging for myself.

“No, I don’t want a fuckin’ shovel, you dick,” I answered and started laughing. “Look, I wasn’t talking about literal age,
or
sexual experience,” I said and pointed a look at my best friend so he would know I wasn’t trying to add to his guilt over the heinous way he almost educated Camie on that front—which I learned was actually the reason behind that go directly to jail card, not her age like I originally thought—and then I directed another look at the sixteen-year-old and, as of yet, sexually unmade Pete so he would know I wasn’t trying to be a dick or embarrass him by pointing out that fact. “All I meant is that she’s playing catch-up. Unlike all of us, she hasn’t really lived in a world where she could experience anything until now, you get it? She’s kinda been, uh, sheltered I guess. Shit, she’s only been in public school for what, three and a half months now? All of this shit,” I said and waved my arms around indicating the people and the party in general to help me illustrate what I meant, “Absolutely all of it is
totally
new for her!

“I mean think about it this way, remember how fuckin’ petrified you were the first time you ever
really
kissed a girl? Not a shy little peck either, I’m talkin’ about a full-blown kiss with tongue and everything…I mean it was fuckin’ scary! Jesus Christ, think back to all the anxiety and nervousness about whether you were gonna do it right, and you
know
because you were so nervous and excited that you were actually about to kiss a
real
girl and not your fuckin’ pillow that you started praying to God you wouldn’t ram your goddamned tongue down her throat so far that she gags…” I was on a roll and didn’t even pause as the three of us raised our hands in answer to the question of who wants ice cream with their cake that came from somewhere over by the kitchen, “And once you finally worked up the intestinal fortitude to do it, you hoped and prayed like a
mother fucker
that she’d kiss you back and that you could make it home to jack-off instead of just jizzin’ your pants right then and there, and that she and her friends wouldn’t embarrass the fucking shit out of you by pointing and laughing afterwards about the boner and nervous sweat you worked up.

“I mean come on, you gotta admit it, we’ve
all
been
there
. But here’s the thing, all of a sudden she’s surround by people who’ve been swappin’ spit like pros for years now and she
just
stopped kissing her pillow, you know? And you know
no one
wants to look stupid for not knowing what everyone around them already knows…that’s
gotta
breed a
little
insecurity. She just has a little growin’ up to do and in my humble opinion, I think she’s doin’ one hell of a fucking job learning how to kiss back,
especially
when she’s taken on a pair of lips that have their own fuckin’ frequent flyer miles, know what I mean, Casanova?” I finished and took a deep breath. Oh holy shit! I feel like I just channeled Dr. Phil. Or worse, Jillian. Jesus, I need therapy…

One of Pete’s eyebrows was raised in a way that clearly told me he thought my shorts now house mommy’s pearly gates instead of daddy’s little monster and Tristan had tears streaming down his face. You see? This is exactly why I prefer the fucking whiteboard!

“But tell us how you
really
feel…I mean, Jesus, if
that’s
how your first kiss went down…poor Kate,” Pete said, shaking his head in dismay and joining Tristan in laughing at me…the fuckholes.

“Actually, man, I see what you’re sayin’…I mean I don’t think I could’ve been so metaphorically eloquent because I never ever kissed my pillow,
or
broke into a cold sweat before I kissed Leslie Carmichael in the second go around of third grade, and there was definitely no gagging or pointing and laughing…I do seem to remember some shock and awe though, oh and she
totally
kissed me back by the way, but I see your point…I think. And yeah, I think ninety-nine percent of all Camie’s insecurity comes from a complete and utter fucking
loathsome
fear of looking stup—”

And the other one percent probably comes from circumstances conspiring against her to humiliate her at some of the funniest fucking times possible.

“Shit, Trist, brace yourself,” I interrupted, trying to get his attention so he could at least
try
to steel himself for the unexpected physical interaction that was impending and unavoidable as Camie came up behind him, took a deep breath and raised one of her hands like she was gonna tap his arm or something.

“—Brace myse—?” Tristan asked and started to turn around, but just as he did, some guy on the JV soccer team went to catch a Nerf football that’d been overthrown, which of course had the guy shoving Camie in the back, which of course had her pitching forward into Tristan, which of course caused her to completely smash all three plates heaped with massive pieces of cake and ice cream she was balancing in one hand right into his chest. Tristan, who, coincidentally, shared Camie’s ridiculous expression of a deer caught in the headlights of an alien cruise ship, did try to steady her, but, he actually lost his own footing and slipped on the enormous dollop of frosting and ice cream on the floor and ended up going down, taking her with him.

HI-
LARIOUS
!!

And yeah, that’s right, I said dollop. ‘Cause cooking ain’t just for chicks anymore and I’m gonna be a chef when I get growed up so I can say dollop without it being gay, so you can just shut your damned pie hole.

Mmmm… Cake. ~ Tristan

I wanna say Camie was holding her breath when I turned around and realized she was about to touch me, but I’m really not sure because in that split second of awareness before she was slammed into me, personally, I’d started hyperventilating. All I could think about was fuckin’ Jeff’s nightmarish first kiss and how the only times in my life I’ve
ever
experienced
any
of that shit has been because of her. My breathing situation wasn’t bettered one bit when our bodies inevitably came colliding together and I swear to God, I not only felt, but heard the bolt of lightning that struck us down.

Then, like I was being pardoned for good behavior or something—yeah, not likely, but just sayin’—she landed on me. When she raised her head and our eyes met, though, I fuckin’
lost
it. I’m not sure what her reaction
would’ve
been had I not, but when I started laughing my fucking
ass
off, she got kinda pissed. I honestly couldn’t help it, though; she had frosting and ice cream on her face and chunks of cake in her hair, and she was just such a beautiful fucking mess that I had a really hard time not verbally thanking whoever came up with Nerf products as well as Home Depot for installing such a dangerously slippery marble floor in MaryAnn’s house.

“But I—I was just bringing you your stupid freaking piece of cake!” She said in a wholly adorable flustered way of apologizing and started to hit me in the arm as she struggled to, sadly, get off of me.

I was still laughing at her though so I’m hoping it didn’t come out sounding too terribly triumphant when I choked out, “Clearly,” and then I plucked a piece of cake out of her hair and popped it in my mouth. Seriously, that was probably the best bite of cake I’ve ever had in my entire fucking
life
!

She hit me one more time and finally managed to not be sprawled on top of me anymore, but she was sitting there looking at my dessert-enmeshed shirt and pouting when she asked, “Why? Why the hell does
this
kind of stuff always happen to me around you?”