Hey Richie, when ya’ going to bring her ‘round?
Richie, you a Homo or something?
When he heard that word he wanted to puke. Dribbling down court, high tops thumping and pounding, Richie grabbed the ball and took off. Huffing, he wiped his face on his sleeveless undershirt, sweat stinging his eyes. His twenty first birthday was coming, the big one. The guys were taking him drinkin’ to O’Brien’s. He made a quick decision.
“Hey you dorks, I’m gonna’ bring her Saturday.”
Tony yelled on the run, “Richie, she a dog? Wow wow?”
They howled. Someone shouted, “does she have hair on her upper lip?”
Richie shook his head and grinned, his gut clenching. The teasing made him play harder. “There see that.” He landed a perfect three pointer.
The guys crowded the bar, joking, downing shots waiting for the birthday boy to show up. Eyes on the door, finally he walked in spiffed in a clean shirt, tight jeans with his flat-top perfectly bryl-creamed, Old Spice aftershave filling the air.
At first hidden behind him, he pulled her forward, put his arm tight across her bare shoulders and smugly said, “Meet Sylvia.”
They were drooling. She was a drop dead gorgeous brunette in a red sundress. They stood with their mouths open then crowded her teasing and flirting.
When they left holding hands the guys stared, watching her whisper in his ear.
“Richie ya’ promised me twenty bucks, but I did so good I want thirty.”