Texting Box Set: The Complete Series, page 50
Python: No!
Me: What were you going to name her?
Python: Sure as hell not Thumbelina Bruce Wayne!
Me: Spoilsport.
Python: I regret nothing.
Python: I think it’s my turn to hate you.
Me: You named her Thumbelina Bruce Wayne, didn’t you?
Python: Yes.
Python: It just fits her so well.
Me: Someone just took one step closer to making our “bang plan” happen.
Python: For real? Shit. I’ll go buy ten bunnies and you can name them anything you want! Spanky, Sparky, Spidey, Tinker Bell! Whatever!
Python: Can I just say I enjoy the fact that a bunny is what’s caused this? We’ll be banging like rabbits in no time.
Me: And just like that, one step back. Don’t be a creeper, Robbie.
Python: I take it back!
Me: Weird. As I recall, we’re operating firmly under the “no take-backs” rule.
Python: I hate my mouth sometimes. It just runs and runs and I forget that the things it says can come back to bite me in the ass.
Python: Fine. You win this round.
Me: We can call it a draw. 😉
Python: You’re my favorite.
Me: I know.
Python: I don’t get it.
Me: Hello random conversation.
Python: Huh?
Me: Sometimes I feel like you text me in the middle of a conversation you’re having with yourself. It’s endearing at times, but also very confusing.
Python: We’re supposed to be all in sync by now, Monty. Get with the program.
Me: Sorry. You’re right. Let’s start over.
Python: I don’t get it.
Me: OMG!!! I KNOW!!! ME EITHER!!!
Python: Wow. Nice overkill.
Me: How rude.
Me: What don’t you get?
Me: And if it’s a math problem, I can’t help you there. I’m not a good mather.
Python: Or speaker of English. Mather isn’t a word.
Me: Is now.
Me: Now, what don’t you get?
Python: Ah, yes. I don’t get why we can’t just hang out. We’ve been texting for three weeks now.
Me: We’re still getting to know each other.
Python: You named my damn bunny, Monty. We’re practically dating by now.
Me: Then why haven’t you taken me on a proper date yet?
Python: BECAUSE YOU WON’T LET ME!
Me: Oh. Yeah. Right.
Python: Is that what you want? A date?
Me: No. I don’t think I do.
Python: So just bang?
Me: That was the plan, right? We just have to bang each other out of our systems.
Python: Yes, that’s the plan.
Me: Then we’ll stick to that—getting to know each other, then work it out of our systems and going our separate ways.
Python: Yes. Yes, I’m liking this plan.
Me: If you don’t fall in love with me first, that is.
Me: (I’ve always wanted to say that. I’ve seen it in so many movies, which is dumb because then the guy does fall in love…obviously.)
Python: Yeah, that won’t happen. We don’t have to worry about that.
Me: Right. We’re good to go then.
Python: Yeah, totally.
Python: Right.
Python: I’m gonna go away now. This has gotten awkward.
Me: Your fault, not mine.
Python: Totally your fault, but whatever is gonna help you sleep at night, Monts.
10
Monty
“What is up with you lately? You’re always attached to your phone.”
I glance up from the screen to find Denny giving me that same exasperated look Mom would give her. Funny how that works.
“What do you mean?”
I ask it to save face because I know exactly what she means. I have been attached to my phone as of late.
Like, the last three weeks kind of late.
It’s not non-stop, but it’s enough to take note of. Sure, he’s the first person my mind wanders to in the mornings and usually the last on my mind at night, but that’s because we’re still all keyed up from our tryst at Lola’s…right?
“I mean, you’re obsessed with it. You take it to the bathroom with you, and that’s super gross because there are floating poop particles in there.” She wrinkles her nose in disgust. “If girls pooped, that is.”
I try not to laugh. You can leave home all you want, but sometimes things are just so ingrained in you that you don’t even realize it.
Mom used to always tell us that talking about our “bodily functions” was the epitome of unladylike, so it’s something we always avoid.
Which I find absurd because it’s natural, for goodness sake.
But, that’s how we were raised—to be good and proper, to follow directions and walk a very narrow path in life.
A path we couldn’t choose.
Everything we did was decided for us: our clothing, our haircuts, colleges, majors. No was not in the Andrews children’s vocabulary, nor were I don’t want to and I don’t like that. You liked what Martha and Clark said you liked, and that was that.
Denny rebelled against all of it. I embraced the structure…until they took it too far and made me accept the proposal from my ex.
“Anyway, who are you talking to all the time?” she asks.
My body stiffens, and I’m suddenly highly annoyed by the fact that I can’t lie to Denny, not even a little white lie like Oh, nobody. I can’t do it. She’ll know. I don’t know if it’s a twin thing or what, but she can always spot my lies.
“Robbie.”
She frowns. “Who?”
“Robbie.”
This time she rolls her eyes. “Yes, my hearing is perfectly fine, Montana.”
“Well, Denver, all you did was ask me who, so I told you.”
“Where do you know him from? You haven’t been anywhere but…” She trails off and her eyes light up. “No way!”
I nod, knowing she’s connected the dots.
“That guy from Lola’s? You’ve been texting with that guy from Lola’s? Are you serious right now?”
“Yes.”
She claps her hands together and bounces around on the couch. “How’s it going? Show me all the dirty pictures he’s sent. I want to see that dick!”
I roll my eyes at her. “No.”
“But he has sent dick pics, right?”
“Um, no. We don’t do that.”
She pretends to yawn and smacks her hand over her open mouth. “Boring.”
“Denny, please tell me you do not send naked pictures to strangers.”
“I don’t.” A smile forms on her lips. “I post them on Snapchat.”
My mouth drops open. “You’re insane.”
“I’m having fun.” She shrugs like it’s no big deal, and to her it’s not, but me doing something like that? Never. Ever.
Sometimes the stark differences between me and my twin amaze me. We’re polar opposites in everything. It’s so weird how you can share the womb with someone for nine months, be as close as two people possibly can be, and yet have nothing in common.
Denver is wild and carefree; I’m reserved and careful. She’s a boy magnet, and I’m certain I put off some sort of repellant. She’s “experienced”, and I’m virtually untouched compared to her.
Even the way we look is different.
Denver has shoulder-length dark brown hair and skin that doesn’t burn after she’s in the sun for five minutes, while I’m stuck with red locks that come down to just above my butt and a complexion so pale Casper thinks I’m his doppelganger.
“If you’re not sending dirty pictures, then what are you guys doing?”
“We’re talking.”
She sighs and throws herself back into the cushions, pointing the remote at the TV and looking bored. To be fair, she does have some reality TV show on, and that stuff isn’t even remotely interesting. “Classic Monty.”
“What exactly does that mean?”
“It means you’re playing it safe like you always do.”
“I don’t always play it safe,” I argue. I shake my phone her way. “I’m talking to the last person I didn’t play it safe with.”
“You made out with one man in a bar—not that big of a deal.”
“To you, maybe, but it is for me.”
She purses her lips. “Fair point, but you need more adventure, more fun. You need to—”
“Just go for it. Yeah, I heard you before, but I’m fine with what Robbie and I are doing. We’re getting to know one another, taking things slow.”
“This guy isn’t leading you on, is he?”
“How could he possibly be leading me on via text?”
She shakes her head. “You know nothing about men. Hiding behind flirty messages is typical guy behavior—pretending to be someone else, someone you like, but in person he’s different. Basically, he’s just trying to get into your pants with his sweet, fake words. Then once you finally sleep with him, he’ll never talk to you again.”
I lift a brow at her. “Sounds like someone’s talking from experience.”
She shoots me a glare but doesn’t say anything else. I don’t push my luck.
“Besides, that’s not him. Robbie is sweet. He’s kind.” And so very dirty.
“And how do you know that’s who he really is?”
“Because—” The rest dies on my lips because I realize I need to tread carefully. I still haven’t told Denny about what happened at the shoe store. She has no idea I’ve seen Robbie again since Lola’s, and I need to keep it that way. She’ll make this huge deal out of it, and that’s not something I need right now.
Besides, I kind of like having Robbie and whatever it is that’s going on between us…well, just between us. It’s none of Denver’s business.
“Because I just know,” I finally say.
“From the texting, right. You can’t truly get to know someone via text, Monty.”
I want to argue with her, but I don’t have the energy right now.
I’ve gotten to know Robbie better via text than I have any person I’ve met in my life thus far. Sure, I know a lot of that is because we have the screen to hide behind, but I also like to think it’s because there’s something there, some sort of chemistry between us.
Or I’m just making all this up to make myself feel better about maybe kind of sort of falling for a guy I barely know.
I’m a mess.
“Do you want me to step out of my comfort zone or not?” I shake the phone her way. “Because what I’m doing right now—carrying on a conversation with a virtual stranger—is way out of my comfort zone and we both know it.”
“It’s a good start, but you need more. You know you need more.”
I do. I need to see Robbie again, but I know that’s not what she’s talking about.
“I’m not going to hook up with some random guy at a bar, Denny. I’m not…”
Her eyes fall to slits. “Go on. Say it.”
I don’t.
“Me, huh, Monty? You’re not me. That’s what you were going to say, right?” She laughs, but it’s laced with malice, not humor. “I knew this would happen if you moved here. You’d spend your days judging me instead of realizing what a stuck-up goody-two-shoes you can be.”
If there’s one thing I’ve learned while living with Denny since the beginning of summer, it’s that discussing her “extracurricular activities” is strictly off limits. The first week I was here she brought home two different guys—which, hey, that’s her thing and whatever—and when I asked her about it, she jumped down my throat about how I was “judging her life”.
It was a knockdown fight, and I’d like to not have a repeat of it.
“I didn’t mean anything by it, Denny,” I say, trying to calm her.
“Good.” She crosses her arms over her chest and turns her nose in the air. “Good.”
She stomps into the kitchen where she begins rummaging around in the cabinets. I hear a familiar crinkle and then the click of the microwave door opening, and I know she’s making popcorn.
Popcorn is my weakness, and this is her apology for freaking out on me just now.
I know she didn’t mean the cruel words she hurled my way, but it doesn’t mean they don’t hurt. She knows I’m upset, but she also knows I won’t call her out on it.
“How about we go out tonight? Maybe we can find you someone else to talk to, not some stranger from three weeks ago who isn’t even sending dirty pics.”
“I’m perfectly fine with what Robbie and I are chatting about.”
“Probably bunnies and puppies,” she says with annoyance, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Close, so close,” I mutter.
“What was that?”
“Nothing!”
“Right.” The microwave beeps and she pops the door open. “Ow, ow! Fucking fuck. That shit is hot!”
She empties the contents into a bowl, just like I like, and comes back into the living room.
“Anyway,” she says as she takes a seat on the couch and passes me the bowl after taking a handful for herself. She doesn’t actually say sorry, but I know that’s what this is. “Tonight, you and me, Lola’s. Let’s go get our dance on.”
“Do I have to?”
She eyes me and then the popcorn.
Maybe she wasn’t apologizing. Maybe she was just buttering me up for a favor.
Ha. Buttering—because popcorn.
“Yes, you have to. It’s a Saturday—we are not sitting around in our jammies all night, and you have to put your phone away while we’re out. No Rob. This is a girls only night. You’re spending way too much time on this one guy. You need to get out there and explore your options—you know, with a real guy.”
“Robbie,” I correct, even though she doesn’t care. “I thought this was a ‘girls only night’—doesn’t that mean no bringing guys home?”
She scrunches her nose. “Don’t get crazy, Monty. We’ll see where the night leads us.”
“I still can’t believe you wouldn’t change.”
I glance down at my outfit and shrug. “Why would I?”
“Because you look like you’re going to church, not a bar.”
“I’m wearing the shortest skirt I own!” I hiss. “I would never wear this to church.”
“And yet it still comes down to your knees.”
“I’ll have you know this is at least two inches above my knees.”
“Prude,” she retorts with a grin. “Let’s go grab a table.”
Her words have me reeling, and I find myself studying the vast differences between our outfits as we make our way through the crowded bar.
Denny is wearing a pair of skintight jeans and a top I’m certain is more of a swimsuit cover-up than a garment meant to be worn in public.
I am wearing my shortest skirt, and it feels as if everything is hanging out even though it does nearly come to my knees. My top isn’t anything to glance twice at, just a plain white t-shirt, and I’m wearing a sensible pair of canvas shoes. I let Denny do my makeup and curl my long, red locks, and it’s the most dressed up part of me.
We do an entire lap around the bar before she finally settles down at one of the few empty tables.
“Guess this one will have to do,” she says on a sigh before waving a waiter over our way.
A guy who looks like he just stepped off the Jersey shore saunters our way, and there’s an instant spark in Denver’s eyes.
Looks like she’s found her prey for the night.
“What can I get for you two beautiful bombshells tonight?”
Denny falls for his false charm in the blink of an eye. I know he just wants a good tip.
“I’ll take a shot of your top-shelf tequila and a vodka tonic.”
“Sure thing, babe.” He turns his attention to me. “And for you, Red?”
I cringe at the nickname. It’s so overused and so…typical.
“I’ll take an iced tea, please. Unsweet,” I think to add, nearly forgetting I’m in the south now and these restaurants constantly try to poison me with all that sugar.
Denver lets out an annoyed huff. “You’re not drinking?”
“After last time, no. Besides, one of us needs to stay sober.”
“You’re the DD? I dig that,” the waiter says with a grin. “I’ll be right back, ladies.”
“How?”
“Huh?”
“I said, how? How in the hell are we here for five freakin’ minutes and you already have the waiter drooling over you!”
“The shortness of my skirt,” I deadpan.
She laughs and flips her hair over her shoulder. “You look so sweet, but that tongue of yours can be so sharp, Monty. I love it.”
I wave a hand. “Trust me, he doesn’t care about me. He couldn’t take his eyes off your cleavage.”
“My, my—did you just say cleavage? I don’t think I’ve ever heard such a profane word leave your clean little mouth.”
“I can come up with a few profane words right now.”
She laughs my comment off because she knows it’s not true. “Come on, scan the room with me. Tell me who you’re calling dibs on.”
“Um, none of them?”
“No, none of that bullshit, Monty. We’re having fun. You’re going to have fun.”
“I can have fun sitting at the table,” I argue. “I’m sure they’ll bring me some sweetener with my tea. I can count the packets.”
