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Jax gives a wiggly sort of shrug / head-shake.
“Well?” I say, giving him my most winning smile.
His scowl darkens, then sags. “Just don’t tell her I’m here. Please?”
I sigh, enjoying the last of the olive-pepper pizza. It really was good, but small. “What was it this time?”
His jaw tenses. “I hooked up with her sister.”
“Dude,” I say, having to laugh.
“Well, I didn’t know it was her sister, now did I?” Jax says, arms crossed over his chest defensively. “I mean, she looked kind of familiar, but… hey!”
“Sorry,” I say, though I still can’t stop laughing. “But dude.”
“I know, dude, I know. They aren’t on speaking terms, so maybe she won’t find out, but—”
“At the risk of repeating myself, why not break up with her?”
Jax just shakes his head sagely. “You know I can’t do that.”
I give him my most shit-eating grin. “I think ‘won’t’ is the word you were looking for there.”
When he doesn’t answer, I continue, “C’mon, man. You broke up with her in the first place because you caught her cheating on you, remember? Several times with the same guy, and even a few times with another couple of guys. And that’s not counting the time she keyed your car because you forgot to post a birthday greeting on her Facebook wall after you threw her that big surprise party. Or the time she dropped your dog off at your aunt’s and told her you didn’t want it anymore because it barked too much. Or the time she crashed your car and wouldn’t pay to have it fixed. Need I go on?”
The answer is implicit in the question, but Jax just shakes his light curly-haired head and keeps on shaking it. “You don’t understand, man.”
“You’re right.” I shrug as I get up, heading for the fridge. There’s bound to be something decent in there. I hope. “And I sure as hell don’t want to.”
If I needed any more convincing about the shit-show relationships turn out to be, after seeing Mom and Dad, then I’d just need to look at Jax and his more off-then-on-again girlfriend, the demon who calls herself ‘Laura’. The woman’s a class-A psycho who will probably end up in jail for murder and/or assault, but for some mysterious reason Jax never seems to be able to voice, he won’t leave the nutjob.
“Anyway,” Jax says now, just as my phone goes off, his lips peeling back in a horrified grimace at what he says next. “I should head over there. Throw myself on her mercy.”
“Ahhh… don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say, trying to keep my voice light.
The poor man looks like he’s going to topple over as it is.
He just shakes his head. “It’s the right thing to do.”
Yeah, ‘right’ if you want an early grave, and/or a premature heart attack, I think.
“Maybe she’ll understand?” I say instead.
Now isn’t the time to bring up the time she went on a Facebook deleting spree, deleting every female on Jax’s Facebook (including Jax’s grandma, who was using a pseudonym and a picture of an ombre sunset instead of her face), just because she caught him talking to some female she didn’t recognize on it (it was actually an event organizer for a cancer awareness fundraiser he was planning to attend, which she later refused to believe).
Not that I can blame Laura for being paranoid. Jax is a catch. Other than him liking to push his close friend’s buttons the odd time, he’s as good as they come: handsome, a basketball player—although he’s currently off for an injury—the man even volunteers every week and helps teach basketball at our local YMCA. If that’s not enough, my boy has dimples, which I wouldn’t have thought was a thing, except every other girl who I’ve banged and has met him has delightedly brought it up. Huh.
“See ya,” Jax says, at the door now.
“Good luck,” I call, though he’s already out the door and he needs something more than luck.
Nothing less than divine intervention will do for my unfortunate lovesick friend. Except at this point, I’d venture to say that this isn’t love. This is cancer.
I sigh.
Odds are, I’ll be seeing him later tonight, if he is still even alive. Not that I’m overly worried. While Laura has been known to throw the odd brand-new $500 Vitamix blender or $4,000 Apple laptop, she’s five foot nothing, 90 pounds, and basically has no decent knives on hand since she eats takeout exclusively.
Jax has been staying at my place every few weeks for the past year because that’s how often he and Laura have another blow-up. I don’t mind the company, and he throws good parties. Plus, we’ve been friends since we were kids. Plus, when he parties, he’s hilariously crazy.
My stomach gives a whining roar, and I switch my focus over to the fridge.
