“Snowball? What’s that?” Abs asks.
I don’t get another second to think about making my escape. The stall door creaks open a fraction, and Orlando steps out, his black curls more rumpled than usual, and his expression as smug as shit.
“Oh, hi, Pi,” he says.
From the stall, Abs groans. “Noooooo.”
“Hey there, Lando. Is my best friend in there with you?” Jesus, why did I ask that? Orlando raises a brow, winks at me, then leaves. “How ya going, Abs?” I call out.
Another groan. “Alright, mate?” he says, emerging from the space. He is the physical embodiment of the word “squirming.”
I pretend as though I hadn’t stopped peeing hours ago, like I’m only just finishing up and haven’t been listening in on their conversation this whole time. Might as well wash my hands here now that my cover’s been blown. Ew, bad choice of words. I move over to the sink.
Abs’s face is practically radioactive. He’s so far beyond red that it almost looks as though I’m viewing him through an infrared filter. “So . . . uh, how much of that did you hear?” he asks.
I watch him for a while, decide what level of honesty I want to take with him. He’s my best friend and he’s super vulnerable. I’m going to be very honest, and maybe it’s a good opportunity to bond over something else.
“Everything, mate. I heard everything.” I give him an apologetic look but use the mirror as a buffer. He’s harrowed. “And it’s disgusting, by the way.”
“What?”
“Cum. It tastes disgusting. Girls are lying to spare our feelings. It tastes like . . . Mate, have you ever been writing Christmas cards and you’ve got about a hundred envelopes to lick, and there’s always like one or two that, after you lick them, you want to slice off your tongue and lob it out of the window?”
“The fuck?”
“That’s what cum tastes like.” Oh no, why am I telling him this? He’s going to ask me how I know, and whose cum I’ve tasted. I’ll just pretend that I’ve tried my own. Yeah, that’ll work. “Best to line up the nozzle with the back of your throat before you spray the cream. If you know what I mean.”
Fuck.
Fuck my fucking mouth.
I’ve only got one option, and that option is hightailing it out of there. I take it, leaving a bewildered Abs at the sink by himself.
Eggo’s standing at the bar and Snatch is nowhere to be seen so I grab my opportunity. It’s now or never.
“Can we talk?” I say, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Sure. Gimme a sec . . .”
I wait beside him until the bartender places two pints of Guinness on the counter.
“Here you go,” Eggo says, passing me one. I’m certain the drink was originally intended for Snatch, and that I’ve done enough peeing to last a lifetime, but I accept it regardless. “Wasson?”
Everyone else is already two sheets to the wind. It’s loud in the bar, and I’m convinced we won’t be overheard, but even still, I guide him over to the corner next to the booths.
“What seems to be the problem, my good man?” he says.
Right, just ask him. Just come out and ask him why he didn’t come to the lice room like the other times.
“Uh . . .”Do it, Aiden, ask him now.“What’s . . . snowballing?”
Eggo barks out a laugh. “You what?” He knows that’s not the question I meant to ask him, but he beckons me forward and whispers in my ear. “I suck you off, then spit your own cum into your mouth.”
I back away from him, a look of pure disgust on my face. “That’s grotty as fuck.”
He’s still laughing. “What did you really want to ask me?”
“Whyweren’tyoutherethismorning?” The words come out all as one. “In the lice room. I . . . waited for you, but you never came.”
