The Artist & The Q.B.

Chapter 2

"I know. I know. Its just, every time I mention anything sports related you always ask, Is that what that is? Or is that what that means?"

I shrug, not thinking its particularly funny, but not bothered that it makes her laugh. I'm used to it. We're definitely close, but there are two things I refuse to do with her.

One, go to a sporting event of any kind.

Two, watch a sporting event of any kind. So far she's respected my wishes.

"Maybe if you learned about football you'd like it?" Truex argues, clearly bothered.

"I'd rather shoot myself in the face." I grumble, taking a bite of pasta.

"Which is true, because I would literally die if I had to watch football and shooting myself would just be faster and more humane way to go." I say, out loud thinking to myself.

Smirking when I hear Mya laugh, but I can feel the heat of Truex's glare.

"I bet its a lot like looking at the pictures you paint." I flinch at his comment, but understand the retaliation.

"At least I don't ask you to look at it, or understand it." I reply, simply. I won't let him get to me, I refuse.

Mya stands up quickly. "Well, I'm done. Are you done?" She asks, not waiting for an answer, but carries my plate away.

"I have to start watching my portion sizes too." She explains, loudly as she walks to the kitchen sink. I look up from where my plate was, my fork still suspended in the air.

Truex is watching me.

I raise my eyebrow at him, I can't help it. He wants a fight he's got one, same as always. We just can't help ourselves.

"How many paintings have you sold? Because I sell out seats, merchandise and my endorsement products." He states, smugly.

"I bet you do. You know I think of you every time I'm hungover and need a Gatorade. You're really doing the Lords work, Truex." I replay, sarcastically.

"I asked how many paintings you've sold?" He pushes, trying to get me to squirm.

"And I ignored you. But don't worry, I still heard the bragy part of the speech. Very impressive." I say, in fake awe.

"Guys!" Mya yells, coming back into the room.

"Knock it off."

I can see he wants to continue the battle and at this point I'm just waiting for the signal. He stands up and leaves the table, pat myself on the back.

Well done, me!

Mya opens her laptop and pulls up bridesmaids dresses that she's considering for the wedding. Who the hell gets excited about getting married and losing all sense of oneself?

Yuck.

Never. Its not for me, I aspire to die old and alone in a sea of cats, the way it should be, the way nature intended.

Love is for idiots. I live life the way I want and on my own terms, nothing and no one will ever have power over me. I shake my head at the imagines on the screen, fake cheesy smiles.

"I still can't believe you're getting married. Such a mistake, you know you'll never be alone again. Your life is going to come down to stopping for milk on the way home from work and picking up dry cleaning. Ugh, its so sad! And you're going to make me watch." I say, being over dramatic and covering my eyes.

"I said the same thing." Truex, agrees as he sits down next to me to see what we're looking at.

Shocked, I look at Truex. "What? We agree on something?" I ask perplexed.

Its never happened in all the time we've known each other.

He nods. "It would appear so."

"Then I must be wrong. Sorry, Mya. You're doing the right thing." I tell her, patting her arm.

"Now we can't agree on anything?" He questions, sounding annoyed and defensive. I shake my head, no and he continues.

"As I was saying, marriage is idiotic. Why the hell do it? So you can walk down an aisle and wear a pretty dress? Just so one day you can change your mind. Then you have to hope your divorce doesn't f**k up the 2.5 kids you decided to have."

I nod in agreement before I can stop myself.

"Dammit, he's right." I comment, unable to dispute a single thing he's said.

"He's not right and neither are you. I love, Tate and he loves me. We're going to last. You two are just pessimistic about love and marriage." She states, with conviction.

"Realistic." Truex, corrects.

I nod in agreement. "Statistically, fifty percent of marriages end in divorce. You know what that means right? If Truex and I were married and sitting at the same table as the two of you, one of us would be getting a divorce."

She rolls her eyes, "Yeah, you guys of course."

"Yeah, that was a bad example." I concede, mulling it over.

"Duh, you guys are like two kids fighting over the same toy."

"What toy?" I ask, confused and not fully listening.

"Should've said, we're like oil and water." Truex suggests, understanding the point Mya was trying to make.

Jumping on the thought I add, "We get along like Charlie Sheen and sobriety."

"Or Tim Tebow and playing time." Truex states, making Mya laugh.

I glance at Truex, who's smirking at his own joke. "What the hell is a, Tebow?" Mya laughs even harder and Truex shakes his head.

"Forget it." Mya pulls it together and points to the screen.

"Okay, back to the dresses. I'm leaning towards navy suits for the men and soft gold dresses for the girls. What do you think?" She asks, apprehensively.

I shrug, "Sure."

"Sure? I want your opinion." She shouts, frustrated.

"She can't have an opinion on a dress, she's never worn one." He mocks.

I glare at him, "Exactly, ask your brother for advice."

"Are you saying I wear dresses?"

"Well, you wear tights and in public." I reply, smiling.

"Who knows what you do when you're alone." I add, smirking.

He crosses his huge arms, "I don't wear tights."

"Yes, you do. Little gold ones with a little corset in the front to lace up. Its part of your football outfit." I remind him.

"Its called a uniform and what the f**k is corset?" He questions, annoyed.

"Well, Cinderella. Your uniform is awfully tight. Almost enticed me to watch a game once." I admit.

"Only interested in seeing players in their uniforms. You disappointment me, B." He replies, not looking very disappointed.

"Ew, no. I don't find men in tights attractive, just amusing." I clarify, wiping the smirk from his face.

"Pants. Not tights." He points out.

"Made of spandex? Really, you're splitting hairs here, Truex." I reply, earning another dirty look. I just love when I can shut him up.