Wildcard: Volume One

“Why not?” she says, laughing.

“Because possibly the most embarrassing experience ever with my mother happened this week,” I mutter. God, I’m horrified just thinking about it.

“Well, now I’m curious. You have to tell me.”

“No fucking way. I can’t even think about it.”

“Come on. You’ll probably feel better telling someone about it. And anyway, you’re talking to the girl who at sixteen had to tell her mom she was pregnant.”

I close my eyes and groan. “Fine, I’ll tell you. But if you laugh…” I warn. “It’s been a little while since I got any relief if you know what I mean.”

“Your mom caught you jacking off?” she guesses, smothering a giggle.

“No. That was part of the problem. I’m in so much damn pain it fucking hurts to jack off. I can’t believe I’m actually telling you this,” I mutter. “I had the place to myself for the first time in ages so I arranged some, uh, company.” I’m hoping she understands so I don’t have to actually say it.

She does. “Oh, God no,” she giggles. “What happened?”

“Let’s just say a friend hooked me up with a very thorough masseuse. I thought I was home alone, but apparently I wasn’t. Mum came running in thinking I’d fallen out of the bed or something.” I groan again and cover my eyes. “I don’t think I can ever do anything sexual again without picturing the look on my mother’s face.”

She dissolves into a fit of giggles, and I can’t help but smile.

“I’m glad you find this so amusing.”

“I’m sorry, but it’s just…” her voice trails off. I’m pretty sure she’s dropped the phone because her insane laughter is now distant. “God, I’m sorry, but that is fucking hilarious. One day you’ll look back on this and laugh. My boyfriend’s father caught me in a similar situation when I was a teenager,” she adds. “I was mortified. I think the fact that I couldn’t look his dad in the eye anymore was part of the reason we broke up.”

“Was that Jake’s father?” I ask. I’m being nosey, but I can’t help it. I need to know more about her.

“No, Jake’s father is a useless piece of shit that’s had nothing to do with either of us since I told him I was pregnant with his kid,” she sighs. “Hey, don’t these phone calls cost you a fortune? Are you still in Paris?”

“Yes and yes, but it’s okay. I’m hoping I’ll be able to travel the hour back home soon. God, to be in my own bed again.” I smile at the thought of being back in my own space. I can’t fucking wait.

“Do you have Skype?” she asks suddenly.

“Why?”

“Because it would be a hell of a lot cheaper than these phone calls. And then I can see you and make sure you are who you say you are.”

“Who else would I be?” I chuckle. But at the same time, I already love the idea of seeing her.

“I don’t know,” she replies defensively. “Maybe you’re the creepy-looking dude who sleeps outside the bank I work at and follows me to my car.”

“That really happens? Have you told the police?”

“The police won’t do shit. Now, do you Skype or not?” she asks again.

I grab a pen and the newspaper off the table next to the bed. “No, but give me your ID and I’ll make an account.”

“‘SweetieTweetie’. How do you not have Skype with all the travelling you do? You’re throwing cash away.”

“‘SweetieTweetie’?” I smirk. “And I don’t ring anyone when I’m away,” I respond with a laugh.

“Not even your parents?”

“That’s what email is for.”

“Huh,” she says, like it explains a lot.

“I suppose you’re the type of girl who calls her mum every day?” I tease.