Charmed Thirds_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [79]
“Take it easy,” Bridget warned.
“Yeah,” Pepe said. “They don't call it the Monkeyfucker for nothing.”
“What?” I asked, smacking my lips.
“TWO OF THOSE AND YOU'LL QUOTE FUCK A MONKEY UNQUOTE.”
Scotty, who had been quiet up to this point said, “Go ahead, Jess, live it up. Drink it down.”
Bridget punched his meaty arm. “You are so obvious.”
“What?”
“You still want Jess so bad you can't stand it.”
I expected him to deny it. So he surprised me when he fessed up.
“We're all adults here, aren't we? Sure, I'd tap that ass,” he said, as if he would be doing my ass a favor. “What's the big fucking deal?”
In high school, a comment like this would have sent shock waves through the entire Pineville High community, from the Upper Crusters down to the miscellaneous Bottom Dwellers Unworthy of Names. But college has a way of democratizing bad behavior. No one really cares what anyone else does, just as long as you don't lose control. There was a guy on our hall last year who everyone knew was a major cokehead. But he could tell a good joke and had a 4.0 GPA, so no one was really bothered by it. He seemed like he had his shit together. But if he had barged into my room and begged to snort lines off my bare titties—okay, it would've been time to get the RA involved. Another good example would be Dexy, whose sluttiness would have been an impediment to our friendship in the past. But as long as she isn't getting gangbanged on the floor of our shared bathroom, it's like whatever.
The point is, after Scotty spoke we all looked at one another like, “What is the big fucking deal?”
And in a flash, I had a vision. I saw myself finishing one Monkeyfucker, then a second, and a third, until I'd consumed twice the volume necessary to engage in sexual activity with a tree-swinging primate. And in that state, I would get on the dance floor and start grinding into Scotty until he dragged me across the sand by my hair and out of the bar and into the back of his pickup truck, where I'd ride him so hard he'd have to replace his shock absorbers.
I was a free woman. He was an unmarried man. No big fucking deal. Right?
Sara took my mind off this disgusting track.
“AS I WAS SAYING BEFORE. IF MY BOYFRIEND JOINED A CULT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DESERT I'D BE DEVASTATED . . .”
“Who did that?” Bridget asked.
“MARCUS. RIGHT, JESS?”
“It's not a cult. He's at a school run by Buddhists . . .”
“ARE YOU SURE? I HEARD SOMETHING ABOUT HIM QUOTE GETTING NAKED AND DANCING AROUND A FIRE WITH A BUNCH OF GUYS UNQUOTE . . .”
“I heard that shit, too,” Scotty said, nodding what would've been a neck if he still had one. “Gay shit.”
“From who?” I asked.
Scotty shrugged. “Don't remember,” he said, checking out a hoochie in a cheerleader miniskirt. “Gay shit like that just has a way of getting around.”
“I HEARD IT FROM MANDA, WHO HEARD IT FROM LEN.”
“Well, they're both wrong,” I replied.
“WHATEV.” And then she yanked up the top of her dress, which had been dangerously close to a nipple slippage.
“So,” Scotty said lasciviously, resting his hand on my ass. “Do I have a shot?”
I should thank Sara for reminding me that when it comes to my past, everything is still very much a big fucking deal.
“Unfortunately for you, Scotty,” I said, removing his hand, “they don't serve a drink called the Idiotfucker.”
This cracked everyone up, and Scotty surprised me by laughing harder than anyone else.
“They do have the Idiotfucker,” Pepe said sagely, gesturing toward a hobaggy huddle at the bar. “But it's better known as Natty Light.”
And then we all surprised ourselves by laughing our way through another round. If you didn't know any better, you just might have thought we were all the bestest of friends.
the twenty-eighth
The cicadas are gone and I'm still here.
Why the hell am I still here?