didn’t tell her they don’t truly delete for thirty days until you delete that file too, and glad because I think every damn one of them are keepers. And then, I check her location for the hundredth time. I can’t help but worry she may have left her phone in her dorm and is broken down on the side of the fucking road or some shit.
“What the hell’s going on with you?” Justice asks as he walks into the room.
“Fucking gutted.” I pat my stomach.
“Same, man,” he says, flopping down on the chair next to me.
My phone vibrates, and I can’t help but feel relieved and smile when I see her name pop up in my messenger app.
7:59 p.m. - You took a picture of me sleeping, my mouth hanging open, and I’m pretty sure I was drooling. You’re lucky I didn’t smother you with any one of the eighteen pillows on your big-ass bed.
“When the hell did you make all those cookies?” Justice asks, pulling my attention from reading the message again.
“Didn’t want my parents to feel bad about the last-minute trip. Thought I’d keep the cookie baking tradition going, you know?” I shrug.
“Tricks, you sure it’s music you wanna go into? Seriously, Momma Joe is up there, raving about your cookies.”
I laugh. “You gonna give up the tattoo artist dreams and … I don’t know, venture into law or some shit?”
“Fuck no, and point made. You thinking of adding to your collection?”
“Always,” I answer as I try to figure out if I should message back immediately or leave her on read.
“You’ve been more glued to that phone than normal. What’s up?”
I toss it aside and turn toward him. “You ever think about getting some piercings?”
He narrows his eyes. “Like, what kind?”
I just look at him, hoping he gets it.
He does. “Tricks, I’m not piercing your dick.”
“Why not?”
“Why do you want it done?”
I shrug.
“You get you have to lay off pussy, even blowjobs if you do that until you’re healed?”
“I’m aware.”
He sits forward and narrows his eyes at me. “Depending on what you choose, it can be a month or up to four. We just moved here; you can’t be sick of the ass yet.”
“I’ve been thinking about it for a while now.” Which is true. “Already know there isn’t anything more I want to fuck with here.”
“You already gotten into something tainted?”
“Maybe.”
He narrows his eyes as he looks at me.
I truly do not want to tell any of them I’m kind of into someone. Not that I’m embarrassed about it; just don’t want them to be all in her shit. Plus, if they asked around, everyone thinks she likes girls, including her. And she may, but I know damn well she likes me, too. It’s not about anything, but she doesn’t need any other reasons to run.
After a solid two minutes of him looking like he’s going through some silent speculation, I ask, “What’s up, JT?”
“Just thinking maybe we break our rule; share names of ass we’ve had here.”
“Didn’t matter at our old school.” And it didn’t … unless we dated them.
His eyes narrow further, and then he shakes his head and sits back. “Yeah, well, we knew every damn one of them basically from birth. This is a different breed. Just a name, not deets.”
“Might be right.”
“Then spill.” His jaw tightens. He looks a bit more pissed than he normally does.
“Hooked up with a girl name Chloe.”
I swear he looks relieved, which is fucked up.
“Now you.”
He shakes his head. “Nothing I want at that place.”
“What the fuck, JT?” I toss a throw pillow at him.
“I’m staying out of all that shit. I need to nut, I’ll do it when I’m far away from this place.”
“Like when you work with Bella and Tags?”
“Exactly.”
“So, why the hell did you need to know—”
“Just curious. Now, back to the whole you wanting your dick pierced thing. You being serious?”
I nod.
“Even if you weren’t my cousin, I’m not thinking I’m gonna be swaying in that direction. I like the art part. Maybe dabble in some nipple piercings, if need be, but no dicks.”
“What about chicks’ genitalia?”
“No desire to shove a needle through a clit.”
I laugh. “No?”
“None whatsoever.”
From just outside the room, I hear, “Ring, ring. Ring, ring.”
JT and I look at each other, both confused.
“Hello, PJ, is that you, il mio amore?” Max says, using a shitty attempt at a female voice with an Italian accent.
“It is, Momma Joe. I got a problem,” Amias says, obviously attempting to mimic me.