Page 69 of Hey Girl
I nod at my reflection, considering this.
“And look man,” he releases his grip on me and I roll my shoulders. “I don’t know if she’s going to stay or not, but this,”—he gestures up and down my person—“is not what’s going to do it. She’s not coming back to this.”
“You’re right,” I give another firm nod.
“To be honest,” his voice lightens with a lift of his shoulder. “I’m pretty optimistic. I mean, you kicked down her front door and barged into her life and she fucking fell for your crazy ass instead of calling a SWAT team. I say you’ve got one hell of a chance here. Imagine what she will do when you just simply leave the door open and give her a little time and breathing room?”
“I guess?” I scrunch one side of my face. I’ve never been so scared of hurt and disappointment.
“But if and when that happens,” Matt continues his lovely little pep talk. “You can’t be waiting for her like this -”
“Would you stop with the this?!” I explode, turning and smacking his gesturing hand away.
“Fine!” He holds his hands up. “But do you get what I’m saying?”
“Yes!” I fire back.
“Are you ready to come back?” He challenges.
“Yes!”
“Good! Guys, now!” He yells over his shoulder and in the time it takes me to raise a curious eyebrow, he’s grabbed hold of me in a full-on tackle and is Marshawn Lynching me towards the tub.
“What?!” I scream out as Josh and Jack come barreling through the door and each grab onto some part of body and join in the bulldozing efforts towards the tub.
I’m deposited in the white ceramic jacuzzi tub and held down while someone flips on the cold water. “Unhand me, you sons of bitches!” I thrash.
The cold water rises around my ass and my poor balls shrivel up and try to retreat somewhere up in my colon. It oddly jolts me awake and I feel a surge of adrenaline.
Why hello, my old friend…
I fight back harder, though I’m not sure why. I always enjoyed throwing myself in the cold ocean, or Lake Huron, depending on where I’m at. It’s a feeling that’s pleasantly familiar.
“Scissors!” I hear Matt demand like a surgeon, and what the fuck does he want with scissors?
Oh dear heavens, they are cutting my shirt off.
“Nooo!” I protest. “This shirt is awesome!”
“Sorry bud,” Jack croons from somewhere on my left. “Your breakup era is over. Foam and razor!” He shouts, as if he too, is a surgeon. Or a very enthusiastic barber.
I feel mountain spring scented foam being slapped on my cheeks.
“God, it’s like baptizing a cat,” Josh mutters.
Cat.
“I miss Iggy,” I sputter, when my mouth meets the surface again before it’s abruptly put under again.
“No Chris!” Matt scolds. “You miss no one! No one but your OLD SELF! You hear me?”
“Yes sir,” I croak out.
“Dammit Matt, I have to reapply the foam now,” Jack gripes before I feel someone else start to massage shampoo into my hair.
Hey, that’s kind of nice. Luxurious.
“Josh, is that you? You have a very soothing touch - ahh!”