Read Online Serpentine Walls by CJane Elliott - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: CJane Elliott
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apartment building. Once inside, Angie steered Pete to the couch.
“There ya go. I’m going to take a shower.”
Pete slumped, watching the room spin for a while, and then grabbed his guitar and started picking out the melody to “Papa Was A Rollin’ Stone.” After hitting a few sour notes, he threw the guitar aside and stared into space, the only sound that of the shower running in Angie’s bathroom. Eventually, the shower stopped. He stared into space some more.
“This sucks,” he muttered and pulled out his phone. No messages. He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t remember why not, and…. Fuck it . He entered Aidan’s name and started texting.
Advise no frat prtis
U dont read this y/y?
U want to play a guy in a bed?
My film. no sex tho. Sad
“What are you doing?” Angie stood in front of him wearing a flannel bathrobe, her hair wrapped in a towel. “You’re not texting Aidan, are you?”
Pete dropped the phone, wishing he could suck the texts back from Aidan’s in-box.
“Oh well,” Angie said. “I’m going to make some ramen. Want some?”
“No, thanks,” he said, feeling queasy at the mention of food, and slouched back against the cushions.
While Angie rattled pans in the kitchen, Pete had another bright idea. He picked up his phone and sent a text to Matthew.
Frat parties suck. So does drunk txtng
Throwing the phone on the table, he lay down, hoping the dizziness would subside, and promptly fell asleep. The chiming of his phone startled him awake, and he picked it up to see a text from Matthew.
Shocking news. I could have told you that. I don’t mind drunk texts when they’re from u. How’s screenplay?
Smiling, he texted back.
Tell u l8tr when sober.
Pete’s smile widened at Matthew’s response.
Looking forward to that. ttyl
Heaving himself up from the couch, he stumbled into his bedroom to sleep it off.
“C OME on, a few more….”
Pete pushed the barbell up from his chest, John spotting him from his position behind his head, and then lowered it slowly, his muscles beginning to tremble.
“Come on, come on, one more, let’s do it!” John barked.
“Unh!” Pete grunted, hoisting the bar into John’s waiting hands. He grabbed his towel and mopped the sweat off his face, sagging on the bench for a moment to let his heart rate return to normal.
“So, what’s up?” He heard John’s voice somewhere above him. “Anything new?”
“Not really.” Pete slid out from under the bar and sat up. “I’m going home this weekend to help Mom with her garage sale.”
“Oh, right.” John handed Pete a water bottle. “I can’t believe your dad is really shacking up with that secretary.”
Pete guzzled some water before answering. “Bookkeeper. And yeah.”
“Sucks, man.” They traded places, Pete standing at the head of the bench to spot John. “How’s your mom doing?”
“Missy said not too good. Part of why I’m going home—I want to see for myself.”
John launched into his set of chest presses, counting off the reps under his breath while Pete stood at the ready, spouting encouragement until John powered through the last rep with a loud grunt.
“Have you seen Fabio lately?” John asked once he caught his breath and sat up.
“No. I mean, yeah, in U. Singers and the octet. But not outside of that.”
John eyed him over the rim of his water bottle. “He ever call after all your drunk texts?”
“Nope.” Pete wandered over to a Nautilus fly machine and started adjusting the weight, glad not to see the expression on John’s face.
“So that’s that,” John said. “Guess you’re just another notch on Aidan’s bedpost.”
“I guess.” Pete changed the seat height and sat down. “I knew it was just a hookup. But….” He watched John select some free weights and lie back down on the bench.
“Yeah? But what?”
“Nothing. I’m being lame.” He started his set, determined to forget about Aidan Emery.
“Hey, amigo,
“There ya go. I’m going to take a shower.”
Pete slumped, watching the room spin for a while, and then grabbed his guitar and started picking out the melody to “Papa Was A Rollin’ Stone.” After hitting a few sour notes, he threw the guitar aside and stared into space, the only sound that of the shower running in Angie’s bathroom. Eventually, the shower stopped. He stared into space some more.
“This sucks,” he muttered and pulled out his phone. No messages. He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t remember why not, and…. Fuck it . He entered Aidan’s name and started texting.
Advise no frat prtis
U dont read this y/y?
U want to play a guy in a bed?
My film. no sex tho. Sad
“What are you doing?” Angie stood in front of him wearing a flannel bathrobe, her hair wrapped in a towel. “You’re not texting Aidan, are you?”
Pete dropped the phone, wishing he could suck the texts back from Aidan’s in-box.
“Oh well,” Angie said. “I’m going to make some ramen. Want some?”
“No, thanks,” he said, feeling queasy at the mention of food, and slouched back against the cushions.
While Angie rattled pans in the kitchen, Pete had another bright idea. He picked up his phone and sent a text to Matthew.
Frat parties suck. So does drunk txtng
Throwing the phone on the table, he lay down, hoping the dizziness would subside, and promptly fell asleep. The chiming of his phone startled him awake, and he picked it up to see a text from Matthew.
Shocking news. I could have told you that. I don’t mind drunk texts when they’re from u. How’s screenplay?
Smiling, he texted back.
Tell u l8tr when sober.
Pete’s smile widened at Matthew’s response.
Looking forward to that. ttyl
Heaving himself up from the couch, he stumbled into his bedroom to sleep it off.
“C OME on, a few more….”
Pete pushed the barbell up from his chest, John spotting him from his position behind his head, and then lowered it slowly, his muscles beginning to tremble.
“Come on, come on, one more, let’s do it!” John barked.
“Unh!” Pete grunted, hoisting the bar into John’s waiting hands. He grabbed his towel and mopped the sweat off his face, sagging on the bench for a moment to let his heart rate return to normal.
“So, what’s up?” He heard John’s voice somewhere above him. “Anything new?”
“Not really.” Pete slid out from under the bar and sat up. “I’m going home this weekend to help Mom with her garage sale.”
“Oh, right.” John handed Pete a water bottle. “I can’t believe your dad is really shacking up with that secretary.”
Pete guzzled some water before answering. “Bookkeeper. And yeah.”
“Sucks, man.” They traded places, Pete standing at the head of the bench to spot John. “How’s your mom doing?”
“Missy said not too good. Part of why I’m going home—I want to see for myself.”
John launched into his set of chest presses, counting off the reps under his breath while Pete stood at the ready, spouting encouragement until John powered through the last rep with a loud grunt.
“Have you seen Fabio lately?” John asked once he caught his breath and sat up.
“No. I mean, yeah, in U. Singers and the octet. But not outside of that.”
John eyed him over the rim of his water bottle. “He ever call after all your drunk texts?”
“Nope.” Pete wandered over to a Nautilus fly machine and started adjusting the weight, glad not to see the expression on John’s face.
“So that’s that,” John said. “Guess you’re just another notch on Aidan’s bedpost.”
“I guess.” Pete changed the seat height and sat down. “I knew it was just a hookup. But….” He watched John select some free weights and lie back down on the bench.
“Yeah? But what?”
“Nothing. I’m being lame.” He started his set, determined to forget about Aidan Emery.
“Hey, amigo,
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