“You still dating that same chick?” Phelan was still bitter about losing that bet he’d made with his roommate. It had seemed like a sure-thing. No way anyone can get a goldilocks virgin to spread her legs within a fucking month. He couldn’t lose. He actually couldn’t believe that the arrogant motherfucker had taken the bet.
And then the arrogant mother fucker had won the unwinnable bet.
Maybe Phelan had miscalculated about Mexican Catholics. Maybe they were all just horny bitches in heat, disguised as precious goldilocks virgins.
It was a Saturday night and they were playing darts in their club room at the apartment. Grey didn’t answer the question right away. “Which one?” He responded after throwing his third dart and missing by quite a lot. He’d nearly missed the board.
Phelan smirked. So he was still dating her. It had been like three weeks since Grey’d won the bet and he was still dating the girl. This spelled trouble.
“Senorita Goldilocks.” Phelan said, retrieving all the darts from the board and strolling back to where Grey was swigging from a bottle of blended scotch. “And what the fuck are you drinking?”
“Who the fuck knows.” Grey responded in a gruff voice. “And yeah, I’m still fucking her, if that’s what you mean.”
Phelan stood at the line and prepared a throw. “But you aren’t just fucking, right? You’re still taking her to dinner and the movies and all that other horseshit too.” He tossed the dart and smiled.
His friend didn’t answer.
Phelan threw another, missed badly, but grinned anyway. “Pussy got your tongue?”
“Fuck you.” Grey laughed. “Yeah, I’m still charming her. So?”
“So?” Asked Phelan, incredulous. “This is going on three-fucking-months buddy, and you’ve already claimed the prize, so what the fuck are you hanging around for?”
“You’d give your right nut for one night alone with this girl Dickwad.” Grey responded, moving into place at the line. Phelan noticed his friend didn’t meet him in the eye. Interesting.
“A wise man once told me ‘get out before three months or you’re officially in a relationship’.” Phelan said, picking up his beer from the bartop and taking a swig. He watched Grey toss a dart before resuming. “Who was that wise man?” He asked rhetorically.
“Well that same wise man has also said: ‘if she gives good head, and lets you do anal, then stay while the getting’s good.’” He threw another dart and then tossed a grin over his shoulder.
“Ahh. The sacred commandments of the Grey Delaney Guide to Good Fucking.” Teased Phelan after Grey landed a dart in the goddamn bull’s-eye.
“Better Fucking.” Grey corrected with a wolfish smile. “Besides, what’s it to you who I date and for how long?” Grey asked, finally looking his friend in the eye.
“I’ve been waiting forever for you to cut that chick loose so I can have a taste.” Phelan admitted with a sly grin.
Grey laughed derisively. “I hate to break it to you Phel, but I don’t think you have a chance in hell with this one.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah. Sorry pal.”
“You’ve ruined her for all other takers?”
Grey chuckled but didn’t reply, only took another swig of the whiskey. Phelan studied him for a minute. Why the fuck was he drinking cheap liquor? Grey Delaney almost never drank cheap booze, unless there was nothing else available or unless he wanted to get shitfaced quick.
“You been getting some on the side too, though, right?” He inquired, looking at the score and sizing up the board as he retrieved their darts again. He was almost always dart bitch. It had to do with a bet they’d made like a year ago—he couldn’t remember the terms of it now, but it had had something to do with oral and, who the fuck could remember. Point was, Phelan was dart bitch.
“I fucked that girl you brought home last week.” Grey answered. He wasn’t teasing.
Phelan felt his lips snap into a mirthless grin. “Which one?” He asked, forcing his tone into fraternal camaraderie.
“The tall one—Thursday night?” Grey tossed a handful of cashews into his mouth, looking bored.
Goddammit. “The black girl?” Phelan could feel his blood beginning to boil.
“I think she prefers to be called ‘bi-racial’” Grey said with a lazy smirk.
Phelan turned away so that his friend wouldn’t see him seething. Fucking prick. Grey knew that Phelan preferred black chicks and he was supposed to keep his hands to himself where those ones were concerned.
Plus he hadn’t had the chance to fuck that one yet. He’d brought her home and she’d sucked him off, but she’d said she wasn’t ready for anything past oral. Apparently sometime in the night she’d found herself ready enough to fuck his roommate.
And then she’d failed to answer the next time he’d called to make plans. Fuck Grey Delaney.
“Nice, huh?” He asked.
Grey fucking shrugged. “Not bad.”
Fuck you. You goddamn son of a bitch.
Phelan grinned and nodded but he was grinding his teeth so hard he thought he could feel his fillings vibrating. He lined up a shot and threw, wishing he could stab the little points into Grey’s smug face.
“So how you gunna break it off with your little fish taco?” He asked pleasantly.
Grey was quiet for a long moment but Phelan didn’t dare turn and look. He threw instead, and waited.
“Who says I’m breaking it off?”
“Jesus Christ, Grey, what’s wrong with you? Don’t tell me you’re in love or some shit.” Phelan filled his tone with as much disdain as he possessed.
“Christ, no, don’t be ridiculous.” Scoffed his friend behind him. “The day that happens if the day I give you permission to tie me down and make me watch while you fuck the girl.”
Phelan laughed. “Well, you’re still bringing her on nice dates, you’re still fucking her, you’re still playing Mr. Perfect--next you’ll be marching down the aisle if you’re not careful.”
“Like hell.” Grey said, stepping past Phelan to the line. “I’ll probably have her a few more times and then tell her I’ve met someone else or something.” He wavered a bit and took a moment to regain his balance. Phelan raised an eyebrow. His friend was getting shitfaced, fast.
“Where’s the little fajita this evening?” Phelan asked. “How come you’re here getting wasted with me instead of fucking her in her naughty catholic ass?”
Grey missed the board by three feet and laughed. “She’s working.”
Phelan looked at the clock. It was only ten-thirty. “Los Tres closes at ten. Her shift should be just about up, right?”
Grey grunted and threw again, missing again.
“Oh no.” Said Phelan, feeling like Christmas had come early. “Did you two have a fight?”
Grey made a dismissive sound and threw his third dart, this time at least making the board. “What?”
Grey Delaney didn’t get in fights with girls because Grey Delaney didn’t have relationships with girls. He wooed them, fucked them, and when he was done he moved on—he never stayed long enough to get into arguments or tiffs or disagreements. He existed in the perfect honeymoon phase of interaction with these girls, where they believed the sun to shine out of his ass—right up until he dumped them.
“Well why not go pick her up now? Unless she’s not happy with you for some reason?”
“Go get the fucking darts, cunt.” Replied Grey with a condescending smile.
“Holy fuck.” Phelan said with a wide, giddy smile. “You are in love, aren’t you?”
“Nope.”
“Yeah, you are, this little concha has you by the fucking balls! You’re pussy whipped!”
Grey continued to grin. “Not so pussy whipped that I couldn’t fuck every girl you bring home before they ever give it up to you.”
Phelan narrowed his eyes. “Ok, so if you’re not pussy whipped, you can break up with her tomorrow, no problem, right?”
“Absolutely.” Grey replied, obviously responding to the challenge in Phelan’s tone. Grey Delaney almost couldn’t resist a dare or a bet.
“And I say you’re full of shit.” Phelan said slyly. “I’ll bet you a thousand bucks you won’t have the balls to break up with her tomorrow.”
Grey shrugged.
Phelan nodded. “Ok, a thousand bucks, plus a year of rent and your best bottle of scotch.”
Now Grey looked grim. “And If I win?”
“If you win? The same. But on one condition.”
“What’s the condition?” Grey blinked and Phelan knew the booze was hitting him pretty hard, though you’d have to know him pretty well to see it.
“It has to be tomorrow, it has to be here, and it has to be right after you’ve fucked her one last time.”
Phelan couldn’t be sure in the weak lighting of their club room, but he thought Grey might have just washed over pale. Holy shit. The guy really did feel something for the girl. Pathetic.
“You’re a class act.” Grey said, a chill in his voice.
“Hey, I need to see it to believe it.”
“You think I make shit up?”
Phelan shrugged and he could feel his friend fairly vibrating with rage at the impugning of his pride. He didn’t dare say a word—he knew well enough how to avoid getting punched in the face.
“Fine.” Grey said. “Tomorrow. Be here around eleven and you’ll get the pretty little scene you’re hoping for.” Grey chugged at the bottle of cheap scotch for a long moment before slamming it down on their little bar. “But you’re going to have to come up with a better fucking bottle than this swill to make it worth my while.” He said, and started for the livingroom.
“Whatever you want.” Phelan laughed. “Hey, where the fuck are you going? You done with darts?”
“I’m done with you, you prick.” Grey growled, and Phelan heard the unmistakable sound of Grey wrestling his keys off the hook by the door. “I’mma go fuck everything I see. Wanna come watch me put your sorry ass to shame?”
Phelan chuckled, delighted at how rattled his normally cool and collected friend was. “I’ll drive, you shithead, you’re wasted.”
“Fine.” Grey snapped. “I think I’m in the mood for all chocolate tonight.”
Phelan set his jaw but forced a smile. “Maybe I’ll call up your twin sisters then.” He conjectured idly. “As long as we’re going for sure-things.”
Grey responded in a weary sort of sing-song “Stay the fuck away from my sisters, you sorry son of a bitch.” It was a familiar refrain. “Touch any one of them and I’ll make sure you piss blood for a month.” He clapped his friend on the shoulder affectionately before spinning on his heel and waltzing out the door.
Phelan laughed as he followed his friend out of their apartment. It was going to be a long ass night.
