Page 119 of Stroked Hard
I really should be happy for my best friend; his journey with Paisley was a long and secretive one, but I can’t seem to muster the ability to care. I will chalk it up to the fucking hole blasted through my heart thanks to Melony.
Fuck.
“It’s nice to smile at people when they come to visit you,” Reese says, sarcasm evident.
“Did you bring ice cream?” Paisley holds up a bag that was behind her. I step aside, giving them access to my condo. “All right, you can come in. Grab the spoons, I will be next to my dog who likes his balls more than he likes me.”
I don’t bother closing the door, as Reese and Paisley can worry about that. Slumping in depression, I flop down on my couch, kicking my legs up on the armrest, my head on the pillow next to Taco. For some reason, the licking sound is starting to soothe me.
I can hear Reese and Paisley quietly talking to each other in the kitchen while they shuffle around in my silverware drawer, most likely trying to figure out how to handle me. They could be more discreet.
They shuffle into my living room, probably holding hands. I don’t look because I’m concentrating on the ceiling.
“Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough,” Reese says. I don’t look but hold out my hand, and a pint with a spoon is placed in my palm. “Extra chunky.”
“Just how I like it,” I reply, scooping up a large spoonful and shoving it in my mouth.
“So . . .” Reese pauses. “You look good.”
“I look like shit.”
“Yeah, but I wasn’t going to say that.” There is a slap followed by an oopf from Reese. “What? He said he looked like shit? I can’t agree with that?”
“Not when he’s hurting.”
“Guys don’t work that way, babe.”
“We don’t,” I reply, still staring at the ceiling. “But I wouldn’t smack you away if you tried brushing my hair and telling me how I will find another lady one day.”
“Want me to get a brush?” Paisley asks.
“I do,” I answer half joking, half not.
She pulls one out of her purse and sits next to me, asking Taco to move but not listening to his protests. She kicks him off his throne.
“Babe, are you really going to brush his hair?”
Tines of a comb start working through my hair, so yes, she is. “He wants his hair brushed.”
“If that’s the case, I would like a blow job.”
“Reese.”
I scoff. “He’s such a barbarian. Show some fucking class, man.”
“This coming from the man with ice cream dripping down his chin and a woman brushing his hair with a Barbie comb.”
I turn to look at Paisley. “Is that a Barbie comb?” She holds up the pink paddle. “Shit, I need to get myself one of those, that feels nice.”
“You can find Barbies at a dollar store.”
“Paisley, he just won a gold medal, pretty sure he’s not worried about splurging on a Barbie doll from Target.”
“It’s nice to get a discount,” she adds.
“I like saving money.” I was saving money to buy a house. I have plenty of it, but the one thing missing is the girl I want to buy it with. I’m so lame.
“See?” Paisley says. “He likes saving money.” She continues to stroke my hair with the Barbie comb as I eat my ice cream.
