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Summary
“It’s like he’s a superhero,” Tommy says, indignant because he can be. Because he’s been thirsting over this DJ guy for months now while planning to sleep with this other guy, but they’re the same guy, and that’s fucked. Tommy sinks lower into the couch, scowling down at his drink, “or a serial killer.”
“Oh please,” Amanda laughs, swirling the wine in her glass and raising an eyebrow, “he’s a radio personality, not Bundy.”
“But still,” Tommy whines, voice petulant. He raises a foot up to the couch, forcing himself smaller.
“He introduces himself like every thirty minutes,” Courtney adds, leaning forward and pressing hard on his arm, “It’s not like he’s keeping a secret identity.”
Tommy frowns, sips at the vodka soda Courtney made for him, and picks a thread off of his jeans. “He calls himself ‘Spence’ on the radio,” he protests but it sounds stupid even as he says it. He shouldn’t be this frustrated, but it’s… shit, it’s kind of embarrassing, okay? Like, c’mon, what are the odds there’d be two guys on the night show at the station named some variation of Spencer who he had banter with?