Heteroflexible

Then there came the tweaked-out party boy who—shirtless and sweaty and sunken-eyed and bone-thin—slammed right up against the counter next to me. The white cockeyed visor-cap he wore nearly fell right off. “Hey, baby. You and your hot friend look bored. Looking for a way to spice up your night?”

Jimmy didn’t even let him get out another word before he stood between us, coming to my rescue. “He’s got enough spice.”

The boy’s hands were in the air in surrender at once, backing away and disappearing into the noisy throng.

After a while, I sigh and give Jimmy a look. “Are you plannin’ to scare away everyone who approaches us? Wasn’t that the whole point of this? To get me a guy or something?”

Jimmy snorts. “The way you say guy, you make it sound like gonorrhea.”

“Well, in a place like this …” I start.

He swats my arm. “Look, you just need to be patient. Besides, if this doesn’t work out, we can just go back to the hotel and make fun of skeazy Skinemax movies until three in the morning. This is our big night out! We can do whatever we want with it!”

“Alright,” I concede with a shrug.

It only takes three more minutes before another body slides onto the tall empty stool at my side. “Hey.”

I turn and look his way. I’m surprised to find a young guy my age with sandy blond hair and a zillion freckles peppering his cheeks before me. I wouldn’t say he’s my type—if I have one—but he isn’t a bad-looking fellow by any means. Especially compared to all of the recent hits I (or Jimmy) have had to bat away.

I give him a tentative chin-lift of a greeting. “Hey.”

The guy takes a breath. He’s nervous. “So, um … like, can I buy you a drink, maybe?”

I give him a tightened smile in return. “I’m only twenty, and I already have a drink,” I point out, giving my glass a tap.

The guy flashes me a smile I think is supposed to be charming. “You mean that murky watered-down Pepsi you’re holding?”

I laugh, then turn my body his way. “Well, honestly, even if I was old enough, I don’t think I’d be drinking anything stronger.”

“Yeah?” He props his elbow up on the bar, also inclining his body toward mine. “And why not?”

I’m about to respond with something witty when Jimmy at once appears, having slid off his own seat to come right between us. “Sorry, dudes, emergency,” he blurts, then slaps a hand onto my shoulder and pries me away from the bar.

I frown at him as he pulls me away. “What the heck was that for? I was actually talking to a nice guy who—”

“You aren’t lookin’ for a ‘nice guy’, Bobby. You need a man.”

I try to peer back at Mr. Freckles, but Jimmy’s got such a grip around my shoulders that I can barely manage a peek. “I left my drink! You did, too!”

“They were gross.”

“Well, they cost us an overpriced six dollars apiece.”

Jimmy stops us by a wall with a giant neon dick-shaped light glowing over his head. I don’t think he notices. “Look, we’re gonna need to find you quality, Bobby. I’m not lettin’ you settle for no loser whose opening line is about how watered down your Pepsi is.”

I frown. “But it was watered down.”

He grabs my shoulders and brings his face close to mine. “I’m tellin’ you, Bobby, I don’t want you settling for just anyone. I have had my fair share of mediocre girls, and it just isn’t worth all the effort. I’m givin’ you priceless advice that I wish I was given when I first put myself out there to date.”

“Yeah, how old were you? Twelve?” I sass back at him.

He ignores my quip. “You’ve got to hold out for the right one. You need someone who’s going to worship you, but not like some kind of precious thing to put on a shelf. He’s gotta worship you in the way that makes you know your worth. He’s gotta set your soul on fire. He has to know what he’s got in you. Get what I’m sayin’?”

I stare into Jimmy’s eyes, a bit taken by the oddly poetic way in which he’s talking to me right now.

But something about Jimmy’s constant control of my life—even the way he’s gripping my shoulders right now, after having physically pulled me away from a potential date—suddenly has me feeling hot with resentment.

Why does he get to call all the shots?

Who named him King of every choice I make with my life?

“You’ve got a lot of nerve, Jimmy Strong,” I throw at his face.

His whole forehead wrinkles up in a frustratingly adorable way as he blinks. “Say what?”

“This whole stupid thing was your idea. And now that we’re here, you won’t let a single guy come near me!”