As we near the end, I hope you have enjoyed the buffet of tropes I tried to work up into an original format. This story went its own way on me as I wrote it, and I had fun copying it all down.
As always, I am not going for deep truths or gritty realism. The aim for me is a plausibly ridiculous course of events.
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Guilty Pleasures - Eleven
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Monica joined me and Yancey again for beers Wednesday after work. I wasn't quite sure who invited whom, but there she was. I certainly didn't mind Monica's presence, but the idea that Wanda might start joining us too made me uncomfortable. I loved Wanda (possibly for real, in a strange way), but happy hour was guy time. Monica sort of qualified.
Which meant she got ribbed.
"So how is John?" I asked her, after some preliminary discussion of beer and baseball.
Yancey's antenna went up at the question. The look Monica gave me sent his antenna up further. "Who is John?" he asked amusedly. He did a good job, I thought, of keeping the protectiveness out of his voice.
"John," I put in, not letting her get herself off the hook, "is a twenty-one year old friend of Becca's and Mary's, who Monica fucked
in my upstairs bathroom
last week."
Monica gave me a look of betrayal. I shrugged.
"Do tell," Yancey drawled eating in in fascination at the opportunity to deal with Monica on something actually fun, rather than misery.
"It was the downstairs bathroom," Monica said shortly, trying to hide the grin. "And how do you know I actually fucked him?" Yancey looked at me significantly. The slightly boggled grin on his face was absolutely making my evening.
"I was in the kitchen at the... for some of the time," I reminded her. "There is no way a college boy knows enough about fingering or eating pussy to make you make those kind of noises." I had almost mentioned that I knew her noises personally, but Yancey didn't know about that. I hoped he didn't know. He didn't need to know.
I saw our bartender's back stiffen as he worked at restocking the beer fridge.
Both of my friends looked at me in shock. I think Yancey was more scandalized than Monica.
I shrugged at her. "Hey, you're going to show up for guy's happy hour, better be able to hang in." I coolly took a long pull of beer.
Yancey recovered first. "So look at you, Monica. Not waiting long at all to move on from Stan."
She was sitting between us, so Yancey could not see her kick my ankle softly. I just kicked her back companionably.
"What am I going to do, emulate this guy?" Monica asked, fully recovered and jerking a thumb at me. "Was I supposed to be celibate for five years first?"
"Ha!" Yancey laughed. "But you sure are emulating him in the whole college kid department," he challenged, giving me the mildest of stink-eyes.
"Wait," I said. "I obviously knew you both knew about... things, but I didn't know you both knew the other knew."
Monica looked at me. "The three of us have to have something to talk about over dinner. You make for good gossip." Yancey laughed, and did not disagree. "Besides, what else am I going to talk about? Do I just spend time asking how loud those two plan on being later?" she asked me idly.
"What?" Yancey said, stealing my line with dismay in his voice. "Oh hey, I'm sorry, Monica. We always try to..."
"You two can't be that enthusiastic and not be overheard," Monica drawled. "I think it's sweet. Just let your voices go. When you really let go, it's kinda hot..."
Yancey fucking blushed like Becca used to, back when she was six. Maybe Monica needed to come drink with us every Wednesday after all.
But he rallied and ignored her last sally. "Well, do try to show a little more discretion than this guy," he said, poking a finger in my direction with that same annoyed, but not warning tone. Why had he never taken a swing at me? I'd have let him.
"He's got great taste, and you know it," Monica snorted. I kicked her ankle again. "But don't worry, Yancey. Mary's safe from
me
." It was my turn to goggle at her. And sneak an apprehensive look at Yancey.
He just sighed. "One of the worst things about his fucking my daughter," he grumbled, "is that is makes it so much less fun to tease him about when he fucks her friends.
Yancey, I do not deserve you as a friend. I don't deserve your forbearance.
The bartender banged the back of his head on the opening of the beer fridge.
"Well," I said uncomfortably, "At least now we can both have fun observing the adventures of Monica with no more uncomfortable subject matter than the fact that next time she pulls a stunt like that, she can clean my bathroom herself!"
"Okay," Monica said, cool as cucumber. "I'll bring my Playtex dish gloves this weekend."
"I cannot wait to watch how the Ballad of Monica and John continues," I smiled.
"Eh. The Ballad of Monica and John was more of a cuplet," Monica said firmly.
"Cuplet?" Yancey asked.
"Two lines?" Monica asked. "As in poetry? We got together after I got off work yesterday, for drinks and a quickie, so I could make sure he understood that I'm not interested in anything ongoing."
"Drinks and a quickie sounds like the best blow-off process in history," Yancey chuckled, a little in awe.
I considered that Stephanie had her own best blow-off in history, but I had not shared any of that intelligence with anyone. About any of it.
"And yet you are still bringing your cleaning supplies this weekend?" I challenged.
"I know your eyes are usually elsewhere," Monica said acerbically, knowing full well that she was one of the places my eyes went, before and after what we had done, "but your daughter always makes sure there are plenty of perfectly lovely young guys at your place during hangouts, too. I have permission to shop."
Um... ew?
I sighed. "For what it is worth," I said grumpily, "the guest bedroom over the garage has a door that locks just fine."
"Oooh," Monica cooed.
"Replacement clean sheets are in the bottom drawer," I added sternly.
Yancey finished his beer, slammed down his glass, and laughed, "What did I do to deserve having you two and your show?"
Monica just elbowed him softly. "What did we do to deserve a friend like you, Yancey?"
"Amen to that," I agreed.
With a clunk, our bartender plopped down four shot glasses of obviously much better tequila than Jose in them in front of us. "Here I thought I needed to say I had a shot with you guys last time," he said, his eyes wild, looking at Monica like she was some kind exotic snake. "I really need to drink with you now!"
*
It was still hot as Hell the next weekend, and Becca had brought along a big crowd. She had a new playlist for her phone, and was streaming it louder than usual over my backyard speakers. There was absolutely no way I'd ever admit to her that I was actually enjoying a bunch of those songs.
