I'm in the middle of one of those romantic situations only I could concoct for myself. I'm writing one story, but seeing another behind its back. Yup. I'm cheating on my work-in-progress. What that means is that while I'm writing one piece, I'm thinking about Peeled. I'm getting up in the night to sneak words onto the document. I'm writing notes in black ink on the inside of my arm. When I ought to be doing seventeen other things, I'm pining.
Here's a snip:
Now, I’m not a guy who butts into other people’s lives. That’s not the type of anal I go for. In fact, the sum total of times I’ve given friends relationship advice is nil. You do what you want. I’ll do what I want. But I started to have a bad feeling then.
Turns out, her name was Heaven—backwards. She didn’t just do yoga. She fucking taught yoga. John had been seen taking yoga…and drinking smoothies.
We’ve all had friends go overboard. Head over heels. Heart over soles. But that this was happening to John was the most surreal thing I’d ever seen.
Until the video.
The video was called Peeled. And in it, there was John. Singing. With his guitar. Singing about peeling tangelos and eating them in a midnight garden. Of feeding them to his ladylove.
God, yes, that was John, badly lit in his dark bedroom, singing to someone who was about to cut him into tiny little pieces.
How did I know that?
Well, unlike John, I’ve been part of the social media circle for a while now. And I had heard of Nevaeh before. In fact, I had intimate details about a man who’d been to Nevaeh and back, and the poor guy’s life looked like someone had taken an Exacto knife and dissected it.
John’s video won quite a few thumbs up. The tangelos really connected for a few of our more poetic friends. And then Nevaeh was spotted wearing an engagement ring that could be seen in one of those Google maps, and I called John and asked if we could have a beer.
Telling your friend that he’s been used is not something there’s an app for. John didn’t make things any easier for me. He talked non-stop about his girl, and I lost my nerve by beer number three and simply sat there with a smile stapled to my face and a permanent distaste for oddly shaped citrus fruits.
Hopefully, I'll put one piece to bed this weekend, so I can fuck the other in the daylight with everyone watching. (Wait. Did I take that metaphor too far? Sometimes I forget to get off at the proper simile station.)
Also, if you are interested, I'm going to host another cover-your-smut contest. I'll post details shortly. I loved the entrants on the last one!