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Once I got drafted, there wasn’t enough time to do all my assignments, even with some flexibility from the college, so I dropped out. It didn’t make sense to struggle through a diploma I’d never use when I was going to make a shitton more money without it.
I have an endless number of texts from Vi and Sunny, but one is from Waters. He normally doesn’t message me. His is easy to read:YOU’RE FUCKING DEAD, ASSHOLE.The ones from Violet and Sunny are more of a challenge. There seems to be a lot of autocorrecting and text slang—which is the worst thing ever created. It makes the words more difficult to decode.
I bring up the text-to-speech app and listen as it takes the butchered English and turns it into Violet ranting. It’s much easier to understand, even with all the inaccurately corrected words.Why the fork would you let someone draw a dock on your face?DuckForkGoddamnit Dick Fucking DICK, not duck. Autocorrect can suck my clot.Clit. AssholeThe next set of messages came several hours later. The first one has twenty or so angry face emoticons attached to it.Seriously?!!!!!! You're naked! Who is that chick?Did someone lobotomize you?The question is followed by several screen shotted pictures. The first is one of me sleeping. It wouldn’t be a big deal if I wasn’t obviously naked—my left ass cheek is visible—and if I didn’t have a huge dick drawn on my forehead. Worse is that Lance’s bunny—Flash Beaver—is giving the thumbs up and pretending to ride me from behind.
I’m seriously going to kick Lance’s ass.
A few are from last night. They don’t look nearly as bad—just me with the guys and a few bunnies taking selfies. But the one from today with the mostly undressed chick in her little bikini top sitting in my lap is damn incriminating.Where the hell are you?You better fucking call me.I'm coming to your house.Those last two were sent ten minutes ago.Why aren't you here? You have a flight to catch!I'm coming for you.My phone rings as I finish listening to her texts. It’s Vi. Answering it is better than letting it go to voice mail again.
“I’m at Lance’s front door. Let me in.”
“What? How did you know I was here?”
“Because I’m psychic, and Instagram is my oracle. Now let me in. You are seriously interfering with my weekly orgasm quota right now.”
I have no interest in hearing more about that. I run down the stairs to the front door. Before I open it, I ask, “Is Waters with you?”
“Are you kidding? I left him at home. I’m not interested in reducing our sex life to conjugal visits. Besides, he’s too pretty for prison. They’d probably make him bottom because of his monster cock.”
“That’s more than I needed—”
“I don’t care what you need. I need Alex to not be pissed off. I can see you through the damn door. Open it.”
Violet is a small person. Maybe five four in heels, but she’s got an enormous personality to make up for her lack of size. I have a feeling I’m in for the verbal beat down of a lifetime.
“Should we shave your body hair so they can make wigs for the elderly?” she asks as soon as the door opens.
“What are you talking about?”
“After Alex kills you, you can donate your fur to charity. And maybe some of your more viable organs. I’m pretty sure everything but your liver is good. Ooooh, maybe they can use your micro-penis for a clitoris enlargement surgery.”
“This isn’t funny, Vi.”
“I think the brain surgeons would love to take a peek inside your head—you know, for science, so they can learn more about what happens when yetis and humans mate.”
I’m about to close the door in her face. She drops the sarcasm. “What the hell were you thinking?”
I step outside and close it behind me. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong? Are you serious? Did you happen to see the pictures I sent you today? Those aren’t even the worst ones. What’s wrong with you? And why haven’t you been answering your phone? Do you know how suspect that makes you look? Also, why aren’t you at the airport right now, catching your damn flight?”
“It’s not until nine, and it’s only, like, two in the afternoon. I’ve got lots of time.”
“It’s five, not two. And your flight leaves in an hour. You missed it.”
“But I checked—”
“Apparently not. Jesus, Buck. Isn’t this why you have a goddamn PA? Even your agent called me this morning when no one could get in touch with you.”
“Amber’s on vacation.”
“And she also knows how bad you are with dates. I can’t imagine her not putting an alarm on your phone, or calling or something.”
“My phone was giving me problems. I thought I had it all sorted out. I guess I got the times mixed up.”
