EXCERPT Copyright © 2015 by Nashoda Rose
But Crisis . . . he was something I hadn’t been prepared for. He liked to talk and because of our deal, it was in text. And after a month of texts from him, I found myself thawing to his playfulness.
You’re comparing cucumbers to dicks?
What about carrots?
Since when do cocks have pointy ends?
So, you don’t like cucumbers in your salad because they look like cut up dicks and it gives you nightmares?
Yeah, Ice. That’s what I said. But we’re talking about big cucumbers, not those baby ones.
And I don’t fuckin’ like them and they always put them in my salad. I’m here picking them out one by one and I know I’m still going to taste them after all this fuckin’ work.
Picking cucumbers out of your salad is work?
He must be bored because he rambled when he was bored. I leaned over and placed my books in my knapsack then zipped it up and stood, grabbing my phone off my desk.
My fingers have been playing all night, I don’t need this shit.
I was uncertain what he meant by that. It wasn’t a secret that Crisis often fooled around with chicks after the concerts, maybe before them, too. I hadn’t thought about it much—we texted. It was an arrangement. But after a month of talking to him every day, I started to think about it.
And from your silence, your mind is in the gutter again. Jesus, babe. I meant the guitar. We had a gig last night.
I bit my lip to keep from smiling. There was that tiny smile emerging again. It had been happening more often lately when I texted with Crisis. It was odd because he casually talked about stuff like this and I thought I’d be revolted or disgusted, and the first few times he mentioned his cock in text, I’d numbed out, but now I didn’t even think about it. It was Crisis and he was just talking. It had nothing to do with sex or wanting sex with me.
Was it good?
I knew it had gone well. I checked when I got up this morning and the reviews raved about Tear Asunder, just like all the other venues they’d been to. It had become my habit to scroll the internet to keep track of the band.
Of course, Crisis dominated the pictures, the media loved him and, from his ease around the cameras, he did too. Often there were pictures with his arm around a random girl and I knew they were random because it was never the same girl twice. He soaked up the attention with his cocky grin. I found myself rolling my eyes and smiling when I saw a new girl in a picture because it was mildly absurd. I suspected each girl thought they were special to him. That they’d be ‘the one.’
But Prince charming was a fucking fairy tale. No guy was going to save you. You had to save yourself.
It rocked. But Logan was off. Emily did a demo yesterday afternoon and a voter came at her.
She got clear, but Logan saw it. It screwed with his head all night.
Fuck no, horse.
She can handle it. Logan, not so much. You in class?
Technically, I was leaving class.
Sex Ed. We learned how to put condoms on cucumbers today.
I don’t know why I said it; Crisis brought out a side of me I didn’t know I had. I waited for my phone to light up, holding it in my palm as I walked from the lecture hall.
LOL . . . Shit, babe, you’re really fuckin’ adorable. I may have to make you mine.