Boy Toy Chronicles
Page 25
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I bring her in for a hug. “You're not mad?”
“Not the slightest.”
***
I spend the next few days throwing myself into schoolwork and the house. I go to classes. And I avoid looking at Red at all costs. I do anything and everything I can to keep busy and keep my mind off Allie.
Since Plan A didn't work out, and I refuse to become Plan B; miserable—I focus all my energy on plan C; throwing a welcome home party for Troy, now dubbed Uniballer.
I hand in my card for BTC, meaning I'm off the roster. I'll still head the meetings and make sure everything runs smoothly. I kind of have to considering it was my idea.
“So he gets out of hospital in three days and then where is he going?” I ask Chase, laptop in front of me while we sit at the kitchen table planning the party.
“He's going to his Mima's house for two weeks, just to recover. He thinks we'll give him too much shit. I just think it's because he likes his Mima touching his balls.”
“Ball,” I correct, “And, she has to touch it?”
He nods. “She has to change the dressing and stuff.”
A shiver runs up my spine just as my phone beeps with a text. I've stopped expecting any form of contact from Allie since the night she stomped on my heart. I smile when I see Mrs. Fletcher's name pop up. It’s a picture of a glass of sweet tea with the caption:
'You're a good boy, Tyler, and you're always welcome in my home. My kids miss you.'
I smile, but I don't respond.
“You know what we should do?” Shem says.
“What?”
“We should do one of those comedy roasts for him at his party. We'll just keep the guest list in-house. Troy loves to give everyone else shit. We should do it for all the brothers so he doesn't feel isolated. But no jokes about his buddy-less bollock.”
“That's good. Keep it low key,” I agree, “besides, we'll be pretty busy cutting off the second testicle from all the decorations. Plus the custom single-furry-meatball piñata eats into most of our budget.”
“It'll be good times,” Chase says, getting up and rubbing my shoulders. “For everyone.”
***
Weeks come and go without a single word from Allie. Then the day of Uniballer’s return finally arrives. We'd kept in contact and visited him at his Mima's often. The kid seems so deflated, and I get it. It's hard to be happy—to continue living your life—when you're missing something you assumed you’d always have. Maybe that was my problem—I just assumed Allie would always be there.
We all chipped in and bought him a jersey with the name O.B and the number 1. It was Chase's idea. O.B stands for One Ball. It's a wordplay on Obi-Wan Kenobi. Get it?
The night goes well, and I realize that I actually missed the crazy kid while he was gone. There's no doubting he's an idiot, but everyone needs that one friend. You know…the one that's not quite right.
Troy limps over to me with three cock-shaped cookies hanging out of his mouth and a huge grin on his face. He bites the head off all three and discards the rest. I eye him sideways.
“If you saw my nut once they'd removed it, you'd understand why it makes me a little queasy putting a sac-shaped anything in my mouth.”
“That's gross.”
He shoves his hand in his pocket. “I got pictures. Want to see?”
I grasp his arm quickly, a look of disgust on my face. “No, man. Seriously. I'm good.”
“Your loss.” He shrugs.
“Nope. Pretty sure it's your loss.”
The roast is definitely the highlight of the night. Each of the brother's sits in the chair on a temporary stage we have set up in the yard. Because we're men, and we more often than not take things too far—Shem, Chase and I decided it would be a good idea to tie the roastee to the chair—just to avoid punches being thrown and all that. I have an air horn in case the roaster gets inappropriate, but honestly…we're frat boys…nothing is inappropriate.
We go in order of ranking from lowest to highest, making Troy first, and me last.
When my turn comes, I sit down and wait for Chase and Shem to tie my hands to the rails on the back of the seat. Once they're done, I look at the brothers sprawled out over the lawn, all of them smiling and giddy. Some already passed out. I've geared myself up for this, knowing the majority of the jokes will be about my failed attempt to woo Allie off her feet. “Who's first, assholes?”
No one moves to get up.
“Come on, guys. I'm ready. I'm prepared for whatever you throw at me.”
The back door slides open and all heads turn to the sound.
Oh shit.
Allie steps out of the doors and slowly makes her way to the stage. Her hair's down and she's wearing a light blue dress with buttons down the middle.
Fuck, I missed her.
Her name is a whisper as it falls from my lips.
Chase chuckles from next to me. “Are you prepared for this?”
I don't answer. My mind's too busy reeling with too many thoughts I can't focus on one.
She steps up on the stage, her face giving absolutely nothing away. I blink and let out the breath I'd been holding. I try to form…what's that thing? With words joined together. A sentence? Yeah, that. Before I can come up with something, she's tapping on the microphone and waving at all the brothers. She clears her throat. This brings on a round of A-li! A-li! A-li! And I can't help but laugh.
“Not the slightest.”
***
I spend the next few days throwing myself into schoolwork and the house. I go to classes. And I avoid looking at Red at all costs. I do anything and everything I can to keep busy and keep my mind off Allie.
Since Plan A didn't work out, and I refuse to become Plan B; miserable—I focus all my energy on plan C; throwing a welcome home party for Troy, now dubbed Uniballer.
I hand in my card for BTC, meaning I'm off the roster. I'll still head the meetings and make sure everything runs smoothly. I kind of have to considering it was my idea.
“So he gets out of hospital in three days and then where is he going?” I ask Chase, laptop in front of me while we sit at the kitchen table planning the party.
“He's going to his Mima's house for two weeks, just to recover. He thinks we'll give him too much shit. I just think it's because he likes his Mima touching his balls.”
“Ball,” I correct, “And, she has to touch it?”
He nods. “She has to change the dressing and stuff.”
A shiver runs up my spine just as my phone beeps with a text. I've stopped expecting any form of contact from Allie since the night she stomped on my heart. I smile when I see Mrs. Fletcher's name pop up. It’s a picture of a glass of sweet tea with the caption:
'You're a good boy, Tyler, and you're always welcome in my home. My kids miss you.'
I smile, but I don't respond.
“You know what we should do?” Shem says.
“What?”
“We should do one of those comedy roasts for him at his party. We'll just keep the guest list in-house. Troy loves to give everyone else shit. We should do it for all the brothers so he doesn't feel isolated. But no jokes about his buddy-less bollock.”
“That's good. Keep it low key,” I agree, “besides, we'll be pretty busy cutting off the second testicle from all the decorations. Plus the custom single-furry-meatball piñata eats into most of our budget.”
“It'll be good times,” Chase says, getting up and rubbing my shoulders. “For everyone.”
***
Weeks come and go without a single word from Allie. Then the day of Uniballer’s return finally arrives. We'd kept in contact and visited him at his Mima's often. The kid seems so deflated, and I get it. It's hard to be happy—to continue living your life—when you're missing something you assumed you’d always have. Maybe that was my problem—I just assumed Allie would always be there.
We all chipped in and bought him a jersey with the name O.B and the number 1. It was Chase's idea. O.B stands for One Ball. It's a wordplay on Obi-Wan Kenobi. Get it?
The night goes well, and I realize that I actually missed the crazy kid while he was gone. There's no doubting he's an idiot, but everyone needs that one friend. You know…the one that's not quite right.
Troy limps over to me with three cock-shaped cookies hanging out of his mouth and a huge grin on his face. He bites the head off all three and discards the rest. I eye him sideways.
“If you saw my nut once they'd removed it, you'd understand why it makes me a little queasy putting a sac-shaped anything in my mouth.”
“That's gross.”
He shoves his hand in his pocket. “I got pictures. Want to see?”
I grasp his arm quickly, a look of disgust on my face. “No, man. Seriously. I'm good.”
“Your loss.” He shrugs.
“Nope. Pretty sure it's your loss.”
The roast is definitely the highlight of the night. Each of the brother's sits in the chair on a temporary stage we have set up in the yard. Because we're men, and we more often than not take things too far—Shem, Chase and I decided it would be a good idea to tie the roastee to the chair—just to avoid punches being thrown and all that. I have an air horn in case the roaster gets inappropriate, but honestly…we're frat boys…nothing is inappropriate.
We go in order of ranking from lowest to highest, making Troy first, and me last.
When my turn comes, I sit down and wait for Chase and Shem to tie my hands to the rails on the back of the seat. Once they're done, I look at the brothers sprawled out over the lawn, all of them smiling and giddy. Some already passed out. I've geared myself up for this, knowing the majority of the jokes will be about my failed attempt to woo Allie off her feet. “Who's first, assholes?”
No one moves to get up.
“Come on, guys. I'm ready. I'm prepared for whatever you throw at me.”
The back door slides open and all heads turn to the sound.
Oh shit.
Allie steps out of the doors and slowly makes her way to the stage. Her hair's down and she's wearing a light blue dress with buttons down the middle.
Fuck, I missed her.
Her name is a whisper as it falls from my lips.
Chase chuckles from next to me. “Are you prepared for this?”
I don't answer. My mind's too busy reeling with too many thoughts I can't focus on one.
She steps up on the stage, her face giving absolutely nothing away. I blink and let out the breath I'd been holding. I try to form…what's that thing? With words joined together. A sentence? Yeah, that. Before I can come up with something, she's tapping on the microphone and waving at all the brothers. She clears her throat. This brings on a round of A-li! A-li! A-li! And I can't help but laugh.
