7.1
Adriano
"Late night?" I ask, closing the front door behind me. I was up at six and off to a cross-training session at the training center – off-season training means cross-training, which is a nice break except for when I'm feeling a little… frustrated, like I am right now. What I’d like to do is pound out a really heavy weight session, or go out to the field and run plays over and over until my mind is totally consumed by football.
I haven't been able to get the hot-ass neighbor chick out of my head, and using my hand has been no substitute for the real thing. Last night, I declined a text from a cheerleader who’s been after me for months, because I was too preoccupied with Hot Neighbor. I even hung out on the balcony, craning my head to see if I could catch a glimpse of her, but she never emerged from her house, probably because a girl like that has a boyfriend, or a string of boyfriends.
Except that she was flirting with me, that much I'm sure of.
Fuck. I can't remember the last time I was this wound up about a stupid chick. I need to just go get laid. The problem is that I don’t want to just get laid by some girl. I want Hot Neighbor.
"Not really," Nathaniel says. He walks into the kitchen and peels two bananas, tossing them into the blender.
"You're so domestic, making me a protein shake," I note.
"Fuck you," Nathaniel grumbles. "This is my breakfast."
"You're testy this morning."
Nathaniel grunts a response as he unscrews the lid to the protein powder.
"Aw, did playing nice with all the rich old ladies last night put you in a bad mood?" I ask. I can't resist messing with Nathaniel when he’s pissy because it only makes him angrier.
But instead of lashing out at me, he just ignores me and dumps four scoops of protein powder into the blender.
"Oh, I got it. You had a little thing with one of those rich old ladies and you're having a little morning-after regret? We've all been there, dude."
Nathaniel glares at me. "I didn't screw anyone."
"Okay, that's the problem. I can pull out my phone numbers if you want. There's this girl, Audrina, who's a total tiger in the sheets. She's a little crazy, though – “
"Shut up, man. I'm not hard up. I just –"
The expression on his face clinches it for me. "You met a chick," I say, realizing what the pained look on his face means: he has a major case of blue balls. "You met a chick and didn't get in her pants."
Nathaniel turns on the blender to drown me out. As soon as he stops it, he tells me to go fuck myself. "I didn't meet a chick. I mean, not really. I’m out a hundred grand because I groped the President's daughter, and –"
"You paid a hundred thousand dollars to feel up the President's daughter?" I ask, confused. "This was a charity auction? My mind is blown. I really need to start looking into doing more charity work."
"No, it wasn’t some kind of pervy charity auction, dickhead."
"The President has a daughter?"
Nathaniel looks at me like I'm an idiot. Yes, the President has a daughter. Don't you ever watch the news? Do you even know who the President of the United States is?"
"Of course I know who the President is," I say. “Stop getting off-topic. You paid a hundred grand to grope an ugly chick?"
"She's not ugly."
"Obviously she is, or you wouldn’t be so upset about it. You really need to raise your standards."
"You have no idea at all who I'm talking about, do you?"
I shrug. "I don't care about politics, dude."
"What's wrong with you? Read a fucking newspaper or something, man. Stuff these politicians do affects your life, you know."
I grab an apple from the bowl of fruit on the counter and bite into it. "Doesn't affect mine. I've got a house and job security."
"Sometimes I want to slap the sense of entitlement right out of you."
"Entitlement, hah. Go for it, bro. Remember when I whooped your ass senior year of high school? I'll do it again."
Nathaniel snorts. "I'd like to see you try."
"Not right now. I’m not going to be distracted. I want to hear about how you paid money to grope the President's daughter. Is she a hooker?"
"Yeah, Adriano. The daughter of the President of the United States is a fucking prostitute and I paid a hundred grand to bang her."
"That's reasonable. Was it good?" I ask, then stop myself. "For a hundred grand it should be. But obviously it wasn't or your attitude would be better today."
Nathaniel gulps his protein shake before setting down the cup on the counter. He sighs loudly, the way he does when he's exasperated with me. "I – no, I didn't pay money to bang her! It’s complicated, all right?”
“Seems pretty simple to me. You felt a girl up for a hundred grand.”
“I stepped on her fucking dress, and then she fell into me with her boobs out and I was putting my hands up because someone got a photo of her but she stood up and – oh, hell, I don't know why I'm even telling you this."
"So then you paid her money? If she's the President's daughter, isn't she rich already?"
"I didn't pay her money," Nathaniel says, exhaling dramatically. "I paid the photographer to delete the photos."
"A hundred grand." I whistle. "To delete photos of your hands on some chick's boobs."
"Not some chick. The daughter of the President of the United States."
"Photos like that would give you some bragging rights - if she's not homely, I mean," I qualify my statement. "Maybe even if she is homely. If she's the President's daughter, that means she's famous, yeah? A minor celebrity? That’s probably about the equivalent of a reality star, I think. Still, it’s some bragging rights."
"Are you finished now?" Nathaniel asks.
"Maybe. Do you have the photos?"
"No. They're deleted."
"How do you know they're deleted?" I ask.
"I erased them from the asshole’s camera. Personally."
"Did you make sure they didn't get uploaded somewhere?" I point out.
It's obvious Nathaniel didn't think of that by the way he glares at me. "If the guy publishes them, I’ll hunt him down.”
"Nathaniel Jackson is going to go all mafia-style on his ass?"
"Shut up."
"So…here’s the most important question: How were the tits?" I ask.
"I'm not talking about that with you, asshole."
"You paid a hundred grand to keep her tits out of the tabloids and you're not going to tell me about them? You do have a crush on her."
"I don't have a crush on anyone," Nathaniel protests. "I'm just not a total dick."
I was just calling you a dick. An image of the hot neighbor chick – Georgina – with her hands on her hips, leaning forward just a little so I could see the top of her cleavage in her business suit, flashes through my mind. Shit, I've got to get that chick out of my head. Or… get her ass into my bed.
