Page 28 of Big Daddy

Even if he only wants me for a month. It’s reckless, risking my best relationship for a fleeting fling with a handsome, well-off older man. Logical me knows it’s not worth it. It’s NOT. But I’m not logical.

I’m the me that is utterly infatuated and projecting life dreams and goals onto a man I’ve known for less than two weeks.

And you know what?

I’m rolling with it.

“What’s up?” my roommate Dante strolls in, a towel draped over his shoulder, covering part of his nude chest. He reaches for his shower caddy, rooting around to find the fullest of his partially empty bottles of soap.

“Not much, just… studying,” I say, motioning to my open laptop. Despite calling off tonight’s zoom and returning the money to Howard viaFeetFans, I actually had been studying. I still have zero clue what my final project for my graphic design degree will be. We had one prompt:use what you learned the last two years to create something that tells us we did our job. That was literally the prompt.

I was thinking of creating a website, but for what or who, I’m not sure. I thought of asking Brielle to put me in touch with someone at Debauchery, the sex toy company working with Crave & Cure, the film company she’s with. But after letting her dad finger my ass in his garage today, asking her for a favor is all kinds of fucked up that I refuse to get into.

“Still thinking of making a site?” Dante, asks, plucking a bottle of White Rain from the assortment. He pops open the lid, taking a whiff. “Does body wash expire?”

I shrug. “I don’t know.” I look at my blank screen then back to him. “And yeah, I was gonna do a site but… I don’t know. Making a site for a fake business feels veryundergrad.”

He slides his basketball shorts down, standing before me in shower sandals and boxers. “I told you; you can make a site for my buddy’s business.” Dante dances his eyebrows. “He’d probably throw in a special card, for free.”

With a smirk and an eye roll, I return my focus to the blank computer screen. “Video game trading cards don't really speak to me,” I tell Dante as he grabs his loofah from the hook near his bed.

“I get it.” He pats the wall. “Welp, I’m getting cleaned up. Got dinner with Sadie tonight.”

“Have a good time,” I reply, popping my EarPods in. I begin with a text box and sample text, because even though I have no direction, you gotta start somewhere.

WithThe Tortured Poets Departmenton loop, my lower back aching, my stomach growling and my eyes growing hazy, I think I’m finally happy with what I have so far.

Though everything in it is merely a mock up, I’ve created a gorgeous clickable store front with a pretty amazing information section. The perfect serif font, the perfect amount of sprayed color behind the text—everything looks great. As I’m putting the finishing touches on some of the alignment, Dante traipses in, his cheeks red, forehead shiny.

I tug an EarPod out. “How was dinner with Sadie?”

He reaches behind him, tugging his shirt off over his head, his silver chain getting caught. “Good,” he sighs, flopping down on the bed. “Walked her home so now I’m beat.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Does she still live in Balboa Terrace?” I ask, referencing one of the smallest, most southwestern neighborhoods in San Francisco. It’s quite a trek from here.

He nods in confirmation. “Yup—I just walked fifty-three minutes,” he says, dragging a pillow over his head. “I’m tired.”

“Too bad you guys aren’t ready for sleepovers, eh? Walking home in the morning, post-fuck with a cup of coffee would be much nicer.” I drag a rectangular box onto my design, arranging the layers.

“We haven’t slept together yet,” Dante says, motionless on his bed. “She has a bunch of roommates, too.”

I cluck my tongue. “Being poor is such a cockblock.”

He laughs. “No shit.”

We both startle at the loud knocking on our front door. So many people live here, I’m not sure that door has ever been locked, nor have we ever had any sort of formal visitor. Dante sits up. “Is anyone else home?”

I shrug. “I don’t know.” Aside from the bathroom and my bed, I don’t spend much time in this apartment, or with any of the people who live here. I could never be aFriendscharacter. I’m more of a one-friend girl. The idea of trying to hang out with my roommatesandbe besties is hard for me to imagine.

The banging sounds off again. Dante sighs. “I just got home. Can I play that card? Hmm? Will you get the door?”

I scrub my hand over my face, trying to ease my aching eyeballs from all the screen usage. “Sure. I need to stretch my back anyway.”

Dante sighs, rolling onto his side with his eyes closed. “Don’t let me fall asleep with my pants on.”

On my way out, I assure him that I won’t, and head toward the door. The knocking, as I grow nearer, sounds more like thudding. I stop with my hand curved around the knob, counting the days in my head. We paid rent, and it’s… well past the duedate. This can’t be the pounding of an angry landlord. I glance across the kitchen at the clock on the stove. It’s well after eleven at night. There’s no way a landlord would do this now, anyway.

Softly, raising to my toes, I press my eye to the peephole, blinking until my vision is no longer fuzzy.

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