See? Dickhead.
“Can you keep your fucking voice down?” I scan my neighborhood. I live on a street surrounded by retirees. If I didn’t know better, I would assume I accidentally purchased a house in a senior living community. They all eat dinner around four, spend their time out on the porch—spying on each other—and asking me when I’ll be settling down with a nice “lady friend.” Mrs. Wickham is the biggest culprit of sticking her nose into my business. “You know I live near a bunch of old people, so I don’t need you shouting to them about me jacking off.”
“I wasn’t shouting to them, I was shouting to you.” He smiles . . . like an asshat.
“Want me to shout to them about how you once chafed your dick because you were jacking off too much?” It’s the first incriminating story that comes to mind to teach Racer a lesson.
Racer leans forward and points his finger at me. “I was twelve and didn’t understand the importance of lube.” Growing quieter, he adds, “And I told you that in confidence, man.”
I roll my eyes and turn back toward the garden where I only have a little section left to turn over the soil. We’ve pruned, weeded, and picked up all the leaves already. Even though Racer has been whiney, it’s been a productive day.
“While you’re sulking back there, can you make yourself useful and start bagging up the piles of dead shrubbery?”
Racer huffs behind me but starts to work. “Do I at least get to take some pizza home for leftovers?”
“What do you need leftovers for when you have Georgie cooking dinner for you every night?” Racer finally asked Georgie, his girlfriend, to move in with him. They’ve been in roomie bliss for the past month. He should have asked her to move in with her the moment they got back together, but he waited it out, wanting to make sure his financial burden wasn’t going to be hers.
“Dude, don’t ever fall in love with a girl who grew up rich. She has no idea how to cook.” He stuffs a bag with leaves and weeds. “She made pea soup the other night and added a pound of salt. She said the cap fell off but didn’t think much of it.” A laugh busts out of me from the image of Racer trying to down “salt” soup. “Laugh it up, man, but you almost lost me there. I thought I was going to die from too much sodium.”
“What do you mean?” I turn toward him, both my hands still on the ground. “Did you eat your whole bowl?”
“Of course I ate it. I wasn’t going to tell her it was gross.”
“Why not?”
“It’s called sex, man. Try it, you’ll find you do some pretty weird shit if sex is guaranteed.”
“So you ate salty soup for sex?”
“Yup.” Racer nods, no shame in his admission. “I would pretty much eat anything if it meant being able to be with Georgie. I fucking love that woman.”
Which is funny because they started off hating each other.
“When are you going to propose?” I stick my shovel back in the dirt and keep turning it over. I know there is an easier way to do this than by hand, but I like tilling my soil manually.
“Starting to save up for a ring now.” Racer beams. “It’s going to be a little while before I can afford the ring she deserves.”
“You know you don’t have to get her anything extravagant, right?” That’s not who Georgie is. She might have grown up on the fancier side of life, but she’s really down-to-earth and hard-working.
“I know.” Racer sighs. “I still want to get her something nice.” He pauses and then asks, “So have you found out who’s moving next to you yet?”
I shake my head. Mr. and Mrs. Ferguson recently moved into an apartment complex for seniors and chose to rent out their house to supplement their income. Smart move. Even smarter move, they’re paying me to be their property manager. I didn’t even blink an eye when I said yes. “They haven’t given me much information. All I know is that they move in tomorrow. Coming up from the city.”
“Maybe they will be young enough you can BBQ together without having to worry about them passing out on the table at five.”
“One can only hope.” I till the last section and then sit back on my heels again. “Done,” I huff out. “That took a little longer than expected.”
“Yeah, tell me about it,” Racer huffs. He might put on a show, but I know he really doesn’t mind being here.
Racer finishes picking up the clippings and ties the bag off just as Georgie pulls up. Racer looks over his shoulder and brightens immediately when he spots her, and for a moment, I take in the pure happiness I see in his eyes as he sees his girl. I’ve known Racer for a long time, and he’s a happy guy for the most part, a prankster more often than not, but I’ve never seen him happier than when he’s with Georgie.
When she gets out of the car, Racer calls out, “George! You’re here to rescue me.” He captures her in a hug and then dips her, rubbing his sweaty face all over her neck.
“Ew, you’re all wet.”
“You’re wet all the time with me, and you don’t hear me complaining.”
Fucking animal.
“Racer.” Georgie swats him in the chest. “Can you control yourself for a second?”
“Nope.” He nuzzles her neck, and I roll my eyes. Yup, both of my friends are in love. Good for them. Gives me more time to . . . hmm, to garden?
To sit around and stare at my walls?
To wind up playing gin rummy with my seventy-year-old neighbors on a Friday night?
Pretty much.
I need a hobby.
When Georgie pries herself away, she turns to me while Racer wraps his arms around her shoulders and holds her close to his chest. “How are you, Aaron?”
“Good. How’s the shop?” A few months ago, Georgie opened a bridal boutique here in Binghamton, and it’s been bustling ever since the grand opening. It’s how they met actually. He was the one who helped her renovate the entire space.
“It’s doing great. We’re all booked for appointments for the next few months.”
“That’s awesome.” I nod at Racer. “You here to pick up this fool?”
“Yeah, he owes me a date night, but from the smell of him, it looks like we’ll be going home first.”
“Nothing wrong with that.” He kisses the side of her head. “You can help me wash my taint.”
“God.” Georgie pushes off him. “Why is that even something you would suggest?”
Laughing to himself, he shrugs with a smile.
“It’s Racer,” I say. “You shouldn’t be surprised by now, Georgie.”
“I really shouldn’t.” Pulling him by the shirt, she says, “Let’s go. You owe me a romantic dinner.”
“Thanks for the help, man,” I call out as Georgie shoves him into her little car.