When Randy woke up, he felt a soft body in his bed next to him. His head throbbed though he had very little to drink the night before. He sat up, which caused the woman next to him to stir. "Morning," she said sleepily.
"Morning," he grunted back, planting his feet on the floor. He grabbed his clothes, which had been scattered over the floor, before saying, "I'm taking a shower. You know the way out."
She pulled a sheet up around her, obviously upset, "Don't you want me to join you?"
"No," he told her before closing and locking the door to the small bathroom behind him. He could practically ihear/i her pout as she shuffled around, gathering her belongings. He heard the door slam shut as the water poured over him. "Shit," he said to himself, pounding his head against the wall. "What the fuck did that solve?" he asked aloud. "I need to talk to him. Tell him that we can still be friends. Yeah, things don't have to be awkward unless we make them awkward. All I need to do is not stay at his place anymore. That won't be a problem. But, we probably shouldn't drink together anymore, either. That… That could be a problem. I guess Dave could work as the middle man… Shit."
John's morning was fairly similar. He untangled himself from Robin, who had managed to wrap her body around him at some point in the night. "I'm gonna head out," he said, hoping she would wake and hear him. He went around, gathering his clothes, slipping back into them for his walk back to his apartment.
"Leaving so soon?" she asked, sleep still heavy in her voice.
"Yeah. Got another busy day in front of me," he told her. Hopefully, somewhere in the course of the day, he would get a chance to talk to Randy.
"Alright. But if you get the need to talk or… whatever anytime, you have my number."
"Right," he said. "Well, I'm just gonna…"
"See ya round," she said to him.
"Yup," he answered back, not knowing if he actually would or not. She had left that up to him. Amazingly enough she actually iwanted/i to see him again, at least that's what it sounded like. After what he had let slip to her, well, he didn't think he would have been so kind had he been in her position.
As John walked back, he noticed he passed by Randy's apartment. Would it hurt to try and buzz him, maybe get to talk to him? Now, if only he could remember his room number… 203, that was it. "Who is it?" a voice came out through the speaker.
"John."
There was a moment of silence before the door clicked. John opened it and headed up the stairs. Randy was standing by his room door, propping it open for him. "You come all the way over here just to see me?" a t-shirt and underwear clad Randy asked him.
"No. I was going back to my place."
"And what were you doing all the way on this side of town at," Randy looked at a small clock he placed in the kitchen, "eight in the morning?"
"Oh, you know. A little of this, a little of that."
"You banged some chick last night and stayed at her place."
"Yeah," John admitted. "Sorry."
Randy forced a smile, "Don't be sorry. You have needs, ya know?"
"Yeah, yeah... So, I, uh, saw you last night. You, uh, bring her back with you?"
"Yup," was all Randy said. He didn't iwant/i to tell John that he didn't even enjoy the sex. But, for some reason, he always found himself saying things to John he would never dare say to anyone else. He didn't know why, he only knew the dude for three fucking days, why was that a sign for him to spill his entire life story? So, he kept quiet, not saying anything further, as much as he may have liked to do otherwise.
"Cool." Again they found themselves in that awkward silence. Neither of them liked it, but neither of them knew how to remedy it. They each knew that the reason they had gone home with random girls was to get one another out of their minds, but they couldn't say it. Because that would make them seem like they were itoo/i close. And that closeness was something neither of them could deal with. At least not at that moment in time. John spoke first, "Dude, we need to talk."
"I don't know what there is to talk about," Randy said, trying to brush it off as though nothing had ever happened between them.
"Shit, Randy, I don't want things to be so fucked up between us. Look, we let things go way too fucking fast."
"Yeah, but… We can still be friends, right?" Randy asked, his voice so full of hope. He hadn't meant for it to come out sounding like that, but it was too late now.
A smile appeared on John's face, obviously pleased that Randy wanted to attempt to reconcile what had easily been the best friendship either one had ever had. "I think so. But, maybe we should step back. Maybe not spend so much time together. And I don't know if we should crash at each other's apartments anymore."
"I agree with that. Umm, we should probably try and drink less around each other… Ya know, just incase…"
"Yeah, that'd probably be best…" Now that they had cleared the air, somewhat, John made himself comfortable on Randy's couch, leaning back and draping his arm over the back, "So, how was it?"
"Oh, you know," Randy said, sitting himself down on the opposite end of the couch. "Dude, the sex sucked," he admitted. "But, enough about me, how about you?" he asked, wanting to draw the attention away from him for once in his life.
"Shitty. I thought, you know, it might be what I needed—"
"To take your mind off of other things?" Randy cut in, knowing that was exactly the reason he had taken her home, and assumed it would be the same for John.
"Yeah… Maybe now I'll actually be able to enjoy it since I won't be thinking about whether or not my best friend still likes me or not," John said, his smile growing.
Randy smiled back, "Your best friend still likes you, that is, if you still like iyour/i best friend."
"Your best friend likes you, trust that. You know, I usually try and get to know a girl before fucking. Not that I've never taken a chick home from a bar, but it never happened much."
"It happens. Just like bad sex happens. Like last night it absolutely sucked. For her and for me. That's not to say I'm not great in bed, because lord knows, I am," Randy started to say, then added, "Not that you would care…"
"I felt the same way. At least the first time we went at it. There was no—"
"Spark," Randy finished, describing his own experience.
"Exactly. I wasn't really into it. Until I kinda told her what was going on."
"Wait," Randy said, "you went home with some chick, had sex with her then talked about your ifeelings/i? What the fuck, dude? That's so fucking gay."
"Just because you have to hole up and not show any emotion except when you're pissed off doesn't mean everyone's like that."
"Whatever."
Once again they made eye contact, which they broke immediately. All around them was a feeling that there was something more, of isex/i, between them. It was an attraction like neither had ever felt, especially in so small a time, and it scared the living shit out of them. But neither one could let the other know that was how they felt for fear of a falling out, this time with far greater consequences. "I'm sorry," John said.
"About what?"
"Yesterday. I completely overreacted to the situation. Why the fuck was I so paranoid that something would happen between us? I mean, like we said yesterday there has to be an attraction. You actually have to iwant/i to have sex with someone, right? And I don't want to be with you. Not that you're not a bad looking guy, but…" Oh, shit, what had John just let himself say?
"Yeah, I get what you're saying." Randy tried to convince himself that he believed what he was saying. He kept telling himself that he had only known John for three days and there was ino way/i he would want to have sex with another guy, especially one he had known for less than a week. But hadn't he just slept with some girl whose name he didn't even know? At least he usually asked for a name before he fucked her. Shit, that was not the logic he meant to use. "Why don't we start over?" he asked.
"Start over how?"
Randy stuck his hand out in introduction, "Hey, I'm Randy."
John shook Randy's hand, returning the greeting, "John."
"Nice to meet you, John. Where you come from?"
"Just out of Boston, Mass. You?"
"Well, I grew up in Missouri. So, John, what persuaded you into going into the business?"
One of John's patented smiles stretched over his face, "Grew up watching it. My brothers, I'm one of five, and I always watched it together, we would horse around, pretending we were Hulk Hogan or some shit like that. Then I had a friend that was going to wrestling school, he dragged me along and here I am. What about you, Randy, what got you interesting in pursuing a career in professional wrestling?"
"Well, as you may or may not know, my dad is "Cowboy" Bob Orton, and I decided to follow in his and my grandfather's footsteps. Of course, I had this bright idea that before I got into wrestling, I would go join the military." This was part of the story John had yet to hear, so he leaned forward, intent to listen. "The Marines, to be exact. Jesus fucking Christ on a mother fucking crutch, what a fucking shitty ass idea that was. I fucking hated it, ended up going AWOL within a year and got a dishonourable discharge."
"No shit. What, could your pansy ass not take it?"
"Fuck you. I was fine it that, it was the fucking drill sergeants that I couldn't take. Try and tell me that I'm nothing but a pretty face that can't do anything if I fucking tried, well fuck them."
And that was when John and Randy knew that they were back to where they were, back to being friends, best friends. Once again they were on the same page and knew they were right on track. It was easy for them to fall in sync with each other; one would start yammering away, the other would chime in. One of them would make some quip to which the other would respond with a comment just as snarky. The conversation came easily to them, it didn't matter if they knew each other for three days, three weeks, three years, three fucking decades, no, it mattered that at that moment, they clicked. At that moment they decided that they would let their friendship take them where it would, that they would roll with it and not try to fight the seemingly natural chemistry that formed between them. Hell, they couldn't even keep away from each other for a day. Not that they imagined they would never speak again because of some stupid shit that happened when the both of them were drunk, no, but neither one thought that they would get back to the status quo so quickly or so easily. It amazed John that he, an outgoing charismatic boy from Boston could have clicked so well with this arrogant, cocky bastard straight outta the South, but somehow, he did.
They were meant to be friends, that was obvious. It seemed inevitable that their friendship would evolve and grow to something much greater, though neither one wanted to say anything, be it out of fear or embarrassment. Still, even with the sexual tension between them growing, they still felt comfortable with one another. No one wanted to say anything because neither of them could stand to lose what had so quickly become the best friendship of their lives.
They found themselves talking for hours, neither paying attention to the time, when their stomachs grumbled loud enough for them both to hear. Randy looked down to his stomach then back up at John, "A growing boy's gotta eat."
"Agreed. What you got?"
"Jack shit. Unless you're cool with Ramen noodles."
"Fuck, I lived on Ramen in college; my mom actually gave me a Ramen cook book one year. That shit took a beating I used it so much."
"Does that mean you know how to make it in a way that's not soup?" Randy asked, actually excited to eat something other than the boring old Ramen noodles.
"Fuck yes," John said, standing up. "Show me what you're workin' with."
