Monogramming the jackets is fucking brilliant. “Hell yeah!”
“Rule 7: These rules are getting borderline ridiculous.” Blaine crosses his arms, still griping like a little bitch.
“Do you want a rad navy velvet smoking jacket or not?” I threaten, because he hasn’t lost his whiney tone since I brought up this idea.
I have a feeling he’s going to be a pain in the ass about dumping his girlfriend, Bambi—though I hate even labeling her his girlfriend. Give me a break, they see each other and fuck—huge difference. I don’t know what he’s so irritated for. She’s entirely replaceable; we just have to prove it to him.
“Yes.” He scowls, lowering his head.
“Then put the kibosh on the pissing and moaning.” I realize I sound like a bully, and I take a deep breath, wishing I had a cigar to puff on. “Rule 7: If you want out of the BBS, it has to go to a vote. Same goes for adding new members.”
Both my friends nod solemnly.
“Bros before hoes.”
Blaine grunts. “Bambi isn’t a ho.” But even he doesn’t sound convinced.
I personally prefer the statement Bambi ain’t no ho, but potato, potahto.
“Sorry, but her name is Bambi. It even sounds promiscuous.”
“Bambi is history,” Phillip declares, chugging down the remainder of his drink, hand already in the air, signaling for another. He sets his glass down on the table with a resounding thud. “In fact, go ahead and text her now. Get it over with. Do it before we call our first official meeting to order.”
“Now?” He visibly gulps.
“No time like the present.”
Wow. Phillip has really taken a shining to this being single bastards concept; he’s being a real douchebag right now. I mean, I agree that Blaine should break up with Bambi, but at least let the guy do it in private. It’s bound to get ugly; she’s kind of a control freak.
The last time he disagreed with her about something, she wouldn’t have sex with him for two whole days! Then another time, she took his dog without telling him and didn’t bring it home until the next afternoon.
“Wait—what happens if we break the rules?”
“Are you already planning to?”
“No.” He doesn’t sound convincing.
“How about this—if you break a rule, you don’t win the wager.”
Why am I using the word wager like it’s 1824? Jesus Christ.
“What are we winning?”
Something that will make it worthwhile to stay single and not stick your wick in the same someone.
“How about my season tickets to the Jags?” The Chicago Jags are a professional baseball team who have won the Series dozens of times over, and my seats are fan-fucking-tastic: second row, between home plate and first base.
They’re worth a fortune, and my friends damn well know it.
I inherited them from my grandfather when he died. Inheriting them is the only way to come by them these days; anyone on the waiting list waits years. Actually, the odds of winning the lottery are better than getting Jags season tickets, and they were the one and only thing of any monetary value I received when he died.
Four eyes damn near pop out of their sockets.
“Are you fucking with us right now?” Blaine can hardly believe his ears and whips out his phone.
I shake my head. “Serious as a heart attack. That’s what I’ll pony up if I lose. What about you?”
“Shit, I don’t have anything nearly as valuable, but…” Phillip sits back in his chair, thinking hard, brows furrowed into a deep V between his eyes. “Fuck. What about my four-wheeler?”
That shitty thing? “Yeah, that works, I guess.” Although we live in the city, so where the fuck would any of us put it? Phillip keeps it at his parents’ place. They have a farm just outside the city, and every so often, we go out for a guys’ weekend and ride the ATVs through the fields.
“Season tickets, a four-wheeler, and…” Phillip looks to Blaine. “What are you going to throw in?”
Blaine shrugs. “My timeshare?”
He has a timeshare? Random. “Where is it?”
“Myrtle Beach. It’s no Hawaii, but it gets the job done.”
Phillip pulls a face. “Winner takes all?”
I nod. “Yup. Winner takes all.”
I glance from him to Blaine, who is furiously tapping out a message, fingers moving wildly over his cell phone screen at an alarmingly rapid pace.
“Dude, what are you doing?”
“Breaking up with Bambi.” The tip of his tongue is actually sticking out of his mouth he’s concentrating so hard.
“And I’m texting my sister about the smoking jackets. Navy.” Phillip glances down