Страница 35 из 53
“OH MY GOD! OH YES, YES, YES! OH JESUS YES!”
“Well, alright then. I think that means I can now pronounce you husband and-”
“KEEP GOING! OH GOD DON’T STOP!”
“Um, wife? Sorry, that’s all I’ve got.”
“Suddenly, after becoming buddy-buddy with Shirtless McFucker Face, she wants vanilla sex. She wants to just…do it. No bells and whistles, no live animals, no power strips for electrical safety precautions, and no elbow pads or helmets. I don’t understand,” I complain to the guys as we get to Jim’s car first and we all stop next to it. “She ruined me for vanilla sex. She ruined me and it was the best way to be ruined ever. And now she just expects me to go back to missionary position only with the lights off?”
Jim opens his car door and throws his bag in the backseat.
“Elbow pads and a helmet?” Carter asks.
“Oh man, best day ever. We went to a skateboard park and did it sliding down the ramp,” I tell him. “We had to keep stopping, getting up, and going to the top so we could slip back down again so it took a while, but it was still magical.”
Man, those were the days.
“Before we make any snap judgments, I think we need to meet this Jackson guy,” Jim explains.
“It’s Fuckson. Get it right,” I tell him sternly.
“Fine, Fuckson. I want to meet him and see for myself if he poses a threat.”
Je
Veronica had told me she asked Fuckson if he would come watch her game and he said yes.
Fucking crapbag.
Of course she doesn’t call him Fuckson. She calls him her best friend ever. Well you know who my best friends are? My two fists. And they’re eager to meet Shit on a Stick’s face. Booyah!
The guys are already pla
~
“No! Wrong way, Alex! The touchdown is that way!” Je
“It’s a GOAL, Je
“Oh my God, this soccer thing is hard. Why are there so many rules for three and four year olds?” Je
“Hey, Drew. I need to tell you something,” Je
Oh shit, she’s going to tell me she’s leaving me. This can’t happen!
“Nope, no talking. This is a serious game. Pay attention.”
Je
“Okay, honey, remember, don’t take the ball away from your teammates. And if you get the ball, spike it all the way down the track,” Je
“Or, you could kick it down the field,” I confirm for Veronica.
“Soccer sucks,” Veronica complains, folding her arms in front of her and refusing to move.
“I know, soccer totally sucks and it will probably make you gay. But there’s not much else to pick from when you’re three. Suck it up and go make me a goal!” I tell her as I grab her shoulders, turn her around to face the field and give her a little shove.
“Okay, seriously. You and I need to talk. I have something I need-”
The ref blows the whistle right next to Je
“NO, JUSTIN! WE DON’T BITE IN SOCCER!” Je
“Get the ball, Veronica! Take that ball away and pitch it past the catcher!”
“You are majorly screwing up your sports talk. Pitch and catcher are for baseball,” I explain to her as the crowd erupts in cheers when someone makes a goal. No clue who made it or what team just got the point because all these little bastards look the same.
“But we get two points for a basket, right?” she asks as the kids come in for a water break.
“No, you get one point for a goal. Basket is in basketball.”
“But you told the kids earlier to dribble the ball down the field. I KNOW dribbling is basketball,” she argues.
“Dribbling is basketball and soccer.”
“Who stops someone from dribbling in basketball?” she asks.
“Defense.”
“Then who stops them from dribbling a ball in soccer?”
“The defender,” I tell her, wondering if this is going to turn into the worst “Who’s on First” moment in history.
“Whatever, as long as they don’t kill each other, I don’t care. Anyway, we really need to talk about something important and-”
“Shhhhhhhhh!” I tell her, putting my finger against her lips. “Game. We play. No talk.”
Fuck! I sound like a God dammed Neanderthal but I can’t help it. Whatever important thing she needs to tell me is probably going to be that she’s decided she wants a younger penis that likes to eat vanilla.
Luckily, something shiny distracts her. Unfortunately, that shiny thing is Fuckson, Mr. Vanilla himself.
Not to be confused with Vanilla Ice, obviously. If Mr. Ice walked over here right now, I would freak the fuck out! Best rapper since Milli Vanilli. You can’t blame it on the rain without first stopping, collaborating, and then listening. Genius.
He saunters (yes, I said saunters, shut it) over to us and hey, look at that. He’s wearing a fucking shirt for once.
“Jackson! You made it,” she says with a smile as she gives crap hole a quick hug before ushering the team back out on the field.
“OH MY GOSH YAAAAY! I’m so excited you’re here!” I squeal in sarcastic delight, clapping my hands together and jumping up and down.
Je
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world! You’re doing a great job coaching. Drew, you didn’t play soccer in school, did you?” shit dick asks.
What the hell is that supposed to mean? I’m not good enough to play soccer? He doesn’t think I know how to play sports? Did this shit on a shingle just insult me?
“What, you don’t think I would totally kick ass at soccer?” I ask him, trying to rein in my anger before I’m kicked out of a peewee soccer game for bloodying someone’s face.
“Oh, no! I didn’t mean that at all! I just meant, with your size, I’m betting you played football or rugby. Some full contact sport where you could really kick ass and not just run around the field. You seem like you could play a mean game of football.”
He’s right. I CAN play a mean game of football.
“I was a total loser in school and didn’t play any sports. You must have been like the coolest guy in school. I can tell just by looking at you that everyone liked you. We’re you homecoming king or anything?” he asks curiously.
“Actually, yeah. I was homecoming king AND prom king. It was the first time in the history of the school that it happened. You should have seen how loud everyone cheered when they called my name. Dude, it was fucking amazing.”