Chad has no idea how Jared even does it, but just the sound of his big-ass voice is enough to make Chad smile. He catches sight of his grin in the trailer's mirror, gaze catching on a picture of Jared and him, all sweaty from playing basketball, wedged into the top corner. It's the only bit of color in the room, if one doesn't count the monster purple velvet sofa along the wall. He gets shit for it, but it's comfortable, perfect for jerking off or napping or playing Madden '07. "What, no singing or chocolates or flowers?" he says, eyeing his teeth for strawberry seeds as he buttons his jeans. "I'm crushed." "Dude, you don't even like chocolates." "So? It's the thought that counts and I'm not feeling the love." "I called, didn't I? Got any big plans tonight?" "Maybe, dunno yet." Way Chad's day is going he'd be lucky to make it to the end of the day. His fucking birthday and he's supposed to be filming no less than three emotionally charged scenes with the ex-wife. The universe clearly hates his guts. Or, at least, the director does. "Gotta see if the girlfriend can stay out past curfew?" Jared makes jokes like this all the time, like he's the king of comedy or some shit. Of course, the bitch of it is, most of the time, they're pretty funny. "Haha, no." "Seriously, do you still have to pick her up from school?" Jared's laugh is the loudest, most obnoxious thing ever. "Oh, wait, that's right, you had to go and buy her a car to get her to stay with you." "Least I didn't have to buy her a tit job," Chad retorts, rolling his eyes. "They're natural, thank you." "Yeah, yeah, tell Sandy's plastic surgeon that." Chad's voice is muffled as he pulls on his t-shirt. "Did you honestly just call me, on my frigging birthday no less, to bust my balls about Kenzie?" "No, I called you to tell you to open the damn door to your trailer. Dumbass." Chad stops, whirls around, and stares at the door. "Wait, what, you're here?" "It's your birthday. You really think I'd leave you to celebrate with the ex and the prom queen?" "She's not a...fuck it, nevermind." Chad tosses his phone onto the counter and stomps to the door, flinging it open. Jared's standing at the top of the steps, arms open, stretching a mile wide, grin just as big and blinding, wearing his favorite pair of jeans, a ballcap, and a t-shirt that reads "Rules for Yankees: Y'all" is singular. "All y'all" is plural. "All y'all's" is plural possessive'." Jared's mom is constantly sending him crap like that to 'remind him of his roots' or some shit. Chad would never, in a million years, admit he's jealous. "Gimme some love," Jared says, and, if possible, his smile gets even wider. "Fucker," Chad replies, but laughs and steps into Jared's embrace. Guy may be more retarded than Elmo, but he's still the best friend Chad's ever had. And gives the best hugs in the world. "C'mon, man," Jared says, slinging an arm around Chad's shoulders, the weight warm and familiar. "Let's get inside so I can give you your real birthday gift." Chad glances up with a wicked smile. "You sitting on my face?" "Almost." Jared waggles his eyebrows. It shouldn't be the hottest thing Chad's ever seen, but then, a lot of things about Jared shouldn't be so hot. By now, Chad's learned not to question it. "Thought I'd suck your tonsils out through your dick first." Chad's breath catches, then stutters. "That visual should not make me as hard as it just did." "That's because it's me. Now get in," Jared says, and shoves Chad into the trailer, slamming - and locking - the door behind them.
|