Page 1 of Totally Played
Chapter one
Calvin
“Whereareallmyunderwear?” I yell.
“I grabbed the last pair this morning, sorry. You’ll have to do a wash,” Tony replies over the sound of the bathroom tap.
“They’re my underwear. What happened to all of yours?”
“They need to be washed, too.”
“I know we shared a womb for eight and a half months, but that doesn’t mean I have to share everything else in my life forever.”
He pops his head around the corner of the bathroom, his hair coated with far too much gel, and laughs. “Sure it does.”
Don’t get me wrong, having a twin brother is mostly awesome. I grew up with my best friend, who just happened to look exactly like me. We shared a room our entire childhood, our first car, and most of our wardrobe, because why buy two expensive leather jackets when we can split the cost and buy one to share? We shared looks, interests, and for a brief time in college, we shared a girlfriend. It’s not like it sounds. She liked us both. It was college, and neither of us was monogamous, andalthough people suspected, we were not a throuple and have never been in a threesome or group thing together. That was before Tony came out. And we share careers, sort of. We both play Banana Ball, but on opposing teams. So, sharing has never been an issue for either of us, but I draw the line at underwear.
“You keep them all. I’m buying new ones and a padlock for my drawers.”
“You could just do the washing,” he says, like it’s my job to stay on top of all the chores.
“So could you,” I remind him.
“I did it last time.”
“Did not.”
“Did too. Remember, you complained that I made your boring white shirt green?”
Oh, okay, so he did do it last time, but I feel like he did a shit job on purpose to try to use it as an excuse the next time it’s his turn. What do they call that again? Oh, right, weaponized incompetence.
“Alright, fine. So technically, it’s my turn, but if we’re going on averages over the last month, you owe me about ten loads.”
“Don’t worry, there’s plenty of my loads in the dirty washing.”
“Gross.”
“If you want me to do it, then it will have to wait until tomorrow. I’ve got a date tonight.”
“This the same guy as last night?” I ask, scrummaging through my other drawers in the hopes of finding underwear put in the wrong place. It’s unlikely. I’m kind of a stickler for things being where they belong, and only where they belong. My twin brother, on the other hand, will pick up something from the floor and sniff it to determine if it’s still good to wear.
“Nope, that was Brett. This is Lewis, or Larry, maybe Lenny. I’m not sure. I’ll check the new dating app before I get to the restaurant.”
I shake my head and pull on a pair of dark blue sweats without underwear.
“What was wrong with Brett?” I ask him. He seemed nice enough, from the two-minute chat we had in the kitchen before he left.
“Nothing, but if I want to boost my score on this new app, I need to give the other threes a shot.”
“Other threes? You get a score on that thing, like a ride share rating?”
“Sort of.”
“And you’re a three? Ouch. Please tell me it’s out of five at least?”
“Yes, it is actually, and before you get all high and mighty about rating people, there isn’t a score for looks or wealth or any of that shit.”
I laugh because, if I’m being honest, the next words out of my mouth were going to be exactly that. I don’t do dating apps. I know a few of the guys on the team are on them, mostly so that when we play in different cities, they can hook up and honestly tell them they’re leaving town the next day. Me, I’d prefer to meet a girl the old-fashioned way. Like some meet cute grabbing the wrong coffee because she just happens to like Venti white chocolate mochas with caramel drizzle and an extra shot of espresso, too, or in a book shop, where we both go to grab the same book from opposite sides of the shelf and then she’ll spot me and smile and we’ll go for a drink or something. Wishing for my own movie meet cute moment might be why I haven’t slept with anyone in almost a year, while my brother is on his third date this week.
