Page 156 of Just for the Plot
He dabs at his face with a napkin and then says, “Got one of the worst blow jobs of my life last night.” He swallows his food and continues. “It was like she was trying to play my dick like a trombone, which I was into at first, the stroking and sucking at the same time, can’t complain, right? But then she started humming.”
“Humming can be nice,” I say, engaging for God knows what reason.
“Yeah, that’s what I fucking thought until I figured out what song she was humming.”
“What was it?” I ask.
He places his forearm on the table, glances around the cafeteria, and then leans in closer. “‘Seventy-Six Trombones’ fromThe Music Man.” I’m about to tell him I don’t know what song he’s talking about, but then he starts humming it for me, the melody familiar in my head.
“Wait, I know that song.”
“Everyone fucking knows it. It’s catchy as shit. But do you know what is not catchy? Humming it on someone’s fucking rock-hard cock. Do you know how difficult it was to maintain an erection while she’s down there, turning my dick into an instrument fromThe Music Man?”
I snort, because that shit is pretty funny.
“Difficult,” he answers.
“Did you maintain?”
“Of course.” He scoffs. “If anything, I’m a goddamn professional and refuse to let a good boner go to waste. So I went with it, and as she was blowing me, I closed my eyes, pictured a band formation, and started marching along. My fear now, though, is that whenever I see a marching band, specifically a trombone, I’m going to get hard.”
“But I thought you said it was the worst blow job of your life. Wouldn’t a trombone scare you away, rather than turn you on?”
“You would think.” He pats me on the shoulder. “But my mind works in crazy ways.”
“Don’t I fucking know it.”
“What about you? Get any good head last night?”
“Dude, you know I’m going after Bower.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you have to be celibate.”
“No, it doesn’t, but I also have no interest in fucking anyone else.”
“Does she know that?”
“Yeah, she does.”
“And she feels the same way?” he asks. “Because I saw some pictures of her in a coffee house with Cougar, them laughing, looking all cozy.”
I scoff. “That shit is old.”
He shakes his head. “From two days ago, man.”
“What? No, you read it wrong.”
“I fucking didn’t. I take my celebrity gossip seriously and the girl thatI follow, that is 99.9 percent accurate on almost everything, had pictures of them looking all giddy at a coffee house.”
A hint of panic surges through me as I say, “Show me.”
“Can’t take my word for it, fine.” He sets his burrito down, wipes his hand on a napkin, and then types away on his phone until he finds what he’s looking for. He turns the phone toward me and I take it from him, zeroing in on the screen and the pictures taken of Cougar and Bower at a coffee house, laughing and looking at her computer together. I glance down at the date and see that it was two days ago, the same day I FaceTimed her.
I shake my head, confused. “This can’t be right. She didn’t tell me anything about seeing Cougar.”
“Do you think she’d say that? Especially when you come off as desperate and needy as you do?”
“Fuck off,” I say as I zoom in on the pictures. Shit, they do look happy, like they’re having a fun time, and of course, that makes me physically ill. Is she really seeing him and possibly thinking about seeing me at the same time?
