Free The Art of Hero Worship by Mia Kerick

here is a guys’ night out.”
    “Well, that sounds like fun!!” Liam’s girl
reminds me of a cheerleader. She pumps her arms, as if shouting,
“Go team, go!”
    “Hmmm…” Lola is deep in thought. “I think
we know how to make a couple of jizz kings’ night out even more
fun….” Ginny is right. This girl’s mind might be in the gutter but
she definitely needs a new urban-language thesaurus. Her word
choice is nauseating. “I’m Lola and she’s Missy Rose, some call us
Bourne Sperm Riders.”
    Ewwww . Still, I reach out to shake
Lola’s hand. She apparently has a different idea. Lola pops off of
the bar stool and next thing I know, I’m wearing her like an
overcoat.
    Liam steps back and shakes Missy Rose’s
perfect little pale fingers that happen to be decorated with
bubblegum pink nail polish, complete with tiny, stuck-on
sparkle-roses. “I’m Liam, and this is my buddy, Jason. And like I
said… it’s a guys’ night out.” He says the last part slowly
and firmly.
    “ Jason … hmmm? I like that name… oh,
yeah…. Jayzee! Jay Zee! Jay Zeeeeeee!” Lola, who already seems too
well in her cups, or in other words, drunk off her fine ass, lifts
her Long Island Iced Tea from the bar and swigs down at least half
in a single gulp. If she didn’t belch so loudly afterward, it would
have been impressive. “It’s such a frigging shaft bender when they
put too much ice in these things!” She swirls the remaining liquid
around in the glass, and then looks past it at me. “Want a
sip?”
    I shake my head. “Uh… no, thank you.”
    Where Lola is Miss Merriam Webster of Foul
Language, Missy Rose is highly skilled at playing the sexy card.
“So, Mr. Muscles… you have got to be the biggest and
strongest guy in here!” She flashes her baby blues and then reaches
up to pinch Liam’s biceps. “How much can you bench press? Don’t be
shy, and tell sweet little Missy Rose….”
    Little… maybe. Sweet? I don’t think so.
    Liam and I are by now wide-eyed, slightly
disgusted, and I can’t speak for him, but I’m honestly intimidated
by their feminine fierceness. These two girls are like a bad comedy
act—they can’t be for real. Surreptitiously, I glance around the
pub for Ashton Kutcher, or at a minimum for a hidden video camera,
thinking we have to be getting punked. But when I look into Lola’s
sly dark eyes, there’s no sign of trickery.
    And when Liam and I catch eyes, we can’t
help but burst into nervous laughter.
    “What’s so funny, tit-torch?” Lola doesn’t
like being laughed at. “College guys just think they’re God’s gift
to classy young ladies like me and Missy here! Well, we’re in
college too, ya know!”
    “Lola, calm down, they’re just trying to
have a good time.” Missy Rose strokes Liam’s arms for real this
time. And soon her pink fingernails are sliding his cool black
suspenders right off his bulky shoulders! “I can show you a better time, Liam… if you give me half a chance.”
    And all of a sudden this isn’t fun any more.
Liam is looking down into Missy Rose’s face and is freaking
smiling , which twists my guts. So maybe his smile is nervous
and uncomfortable as pig in a bacon bits packaging plant, but it’s
a smile nonetheless. And Lola looks pissed off and at the same time
horny as hell, and she actually has the gall to grab for my alien ball sack, which were her exact words.
    Liam is in her face in a split second.
“Hands off, lady.” He doesn’t shout. He doesn’t lay a finger on
her, although he looks like he wants to. He steps up between us,
which is a challenge because, as I said before, I’m pretty much
wearing Lola like outerwear, and informs her that I’m unavailable.
“He’s with me.”
    I’ve been claimed.
    By a guy.
    And how do I feel about this?
    I feel confused, combined with surprise.
    And a lot relieved. Especially when Lola
screams, “You guys are nothing but puke stains!”
    But is relieved enough to do what
we’re