Ball Peen Hammer - Lauren Rowe
He bends over the woman’s back, grabs a fistful of her dark hair, and thrusts into her one last time, his eyes searing holes into my flesh.
And that’s it. I’m gone. Put a fork in me. I’m done.
I’ve got to have him.
I don’t care what I said last night. And I certainly don’t care about his stupid brother. In fact, I don’t care about anything or anyone except me and what I want.
And what I want is him.
I want to kiss him. And have sex with him. And then do it again. I want to touch and kiss and lick and suck every inch of that insane body of his, and then do it again. And I want him to touch me, every inch of me, inside and out, all the way inside the deepest, most secret places of my body, and make me come again and again.
No matter what we said to each other last night, or how my heart’s inevitably going to shatter when the pleasure’s all gone and there’s nothing left but pain, in this moment, I want him like I’ve never wanted another man.
And, by God, I’m going to get him.
Right freakin’ now.
Friday 7:42 p.m.
My phone buzzes with an incoming call and I peel my eyes off the video I’m editing to see who’s calling. It’s my big sister, Hannah—the one person in the world I’ll always pick up for, no matter what I’m doing.
“Hey, Banana,” I say, answering the call.
“Hey, hon. Whatcha doin’?”
“Nothing much—just, you know, smokin’ crack, having sex with an underwear model—the usual Friday night stuff. And that’s just a warm-up for tomorrow night when I’ll be mainlining black tar heroin and hosting a gangbang.”
“You’re editing another wedding video, I presume?”
“Yeah. The bride from last weekend was hoping to show her grandma the finished video at Granny’s Ninetieth Birthday Bash on Sunday. Apparently, her grandmother was too frail to travel to Seattle for the wedding, so I’ve been working ’round the clock to get it done in time for her.”
“You’re such a sweetheart, Maddy.”
“Not at all. Rush-editing a wedding video on a Friday night is my idea of fun, believe it or not. Maybe not quite as thrilling as hosting a gangbang, but it’s a close second.”
“Meh. Gangbangs are totally overrated. After a couple dozen of ’em, the novelty wears off.”
“Good to know.”
“So, hey, procrastinator, I’m calling to find out if you bought your plane ticket yet?”
“Nope, still holding out hope you’ll be able to snag me a parking spot in your building. Wishful thinking, I know.”
“Or maybe not wishful thinking...” Hannah says, her tone spiking with excitement. “Get your oil changed and your tires rotated, sissy—you’re gonna be driving your car to L.A., after all.”
I let out an excited howl. “Really? Oh my God!” This news is a godsend. It means I’ll be able to shoot weddings on weekends during the upcoming school year and make some much-needed extra cash. “Thank you so much, Hannah!”
“How the heck did you do it?”
“But wait, Hannah.” My stomach clenches with sudden wariness. Hannah once told me people were renting out spots in her building for, like, four hundred bucks a month, thanks to the proximity of her building to campus. “If this spot is gonna cost me more than, say, fifty bucks a month, I can’t swing it,” I say. “Tuition for the first trimester wiped me out, and I still gotta buy books when I get to school.”
“No, no, no. This parking spot don’t cost a thing, baby, just like J.Lo and her love.” Hannah belts out the chorus of Jennifer Lopez’s song “Love Don’t Cost a Thing” at the top of her lungs, replacing the word “love” with “parking spot.”
“Yeow,” I say, pulling the phone from my ear. “You almost burst my eardrum there, babe. Warn me next time before you break into spontaneous J.Lo, please.”
“Okay, warning: I’m about to burst into spontaneous J.Lo again.” She promptly bursts into an enthusiastic mash-up of “Jenny on the Block,” “Let’s Get Loud,” and “Waiting for Tonight.”
I can’t help but giggle. There’s no one like my sister.
“Okay, I’m done J.Lo-ing for now,” Hannah says, exhaling. “You were saying?”
“Be serious for a minute, Banana. How much is this spot gonna set me back? We both know, thanks to observing our dear, hapless mother our entire lives, absolutely nothing comes for free, not even J.Lo’s love. Actually, come to think of it, Ben Affleck has gone on record to say the ‘Bennifer’ era was the lowest