I had one beer last night, but it feels as though I had twenty. My mouth feels dry, my body is aching, and there’s an unsatisfied feeling flooding me. And there’s only one reason for this feeling.
Kelsey.
Fucking Kelsey.
I swing my legs over the edge of my bed and rub my palm against my eye as I attempt to wake my body.
Fuck.
Once again, I lost control. Returning to the penthouse, not seeing her there, and having to count down every second until she came back, turned me into a dangerous, jealous man. The moment she walked through that door, I was ready to pick a fight. I was ready to provoke her and no matter what I tried to do to calm myself, I couldn’t. That’s how I found myself in her bedroom, pulling out my dick, and watching her pleasure herself.
Even this morning, I can still see the look on her face when she orgasmed. I can hear her delicious moans. I can taste her. All three causes for this non-alcoholic hangover I’m experiencing.
From my nightstand, I check the alarm clock for the time. Shit, is it really nine already? Thank fuck it’s Saturday and I don’t have any meetings. I just have to face Kelsey this morning with no idea what to say.
Am I embarrassed about what happened last night? No.
Am I sure she’s embarrassed about what happened last night? Yes.
I don’t think Kelsey is the type of woman who masturbates in front of someone, despite the type of “underwear” she wears. I think her lingerie is probably the naughtiest thing about her.
So, what I should expect from her this morning is an extreme dose of awkwardness with a heavy side of regret. Two things I’m not very good at navigating. I don’t necessarily feel those emotions, at least not as heavily as Kelsey, nor would I feel them about a sexual experience. And it makes me want her more. How could I possibly walk away from her knowing what she tastes like? Knowing she wears sexy-as-fuck lingerie? But she still doesn’t believe in me.
Knowing I can’t hang out in my room forever, I slip out of bed and find a pair of shorts to put on so I don’t walk into the living space naked. She saw my dick last night, but I doubt she wants to see it this morning.
Dressed, I open my bedroom door and walk down the hallway, scratching my chest, only to stop at the edge of the living room where I spot Kelsey sitting on the couch, rocking back and forth, an iPad in front of her. She’s wearing a pair of sweats and a T-shirt and has a worried look on her face.
When her eyes land on mine, fear encompasses them. “What’s going on?” I ask.
“Your brother texted. He said he’s going to FaceTime us in ten minutes. Is he . . . is he going to fire me?”
“Why would he fire you?”
“You know, because of last night . . .” Her voice trails off, and when I don’t say anything, she adds, “You know, what we did in my bedroom.”
I tug on my hair. “Why the fuck would he know about that?”
“You didn’t tell him?”
“I don’t tell my brother shit. Plus, that’s something I’d never tell him, or Breaker, for that matter. Did you tell your sister?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “I was too embarrassed.”
See, told you she’d be embarrassed.
I walk over to the kitchen, grab an apple from the bowl, and take a bite. “So, then, there’s nothing to worry about. Plus, he’d never fire you over something like that.”
“Then what does he want to talk to us about?”
I shrug. “Beats me.”
Although that’s not the truth, as I’m sure he has some shit to say to me. He wasn’t very happy with me yesterday when I hung up on him, so this impromptu need to call feels right.
“Well, I have a bad feeling. I feel like I’m in trouble.”
“You only feel that way because you did something you’d never do last night.”
Her eyes find mine. “How can you just be so casual about it? I’ve been up since four this morning unable to sleep. I don’t . . . I don’t know what came over me last night. I never should’ve—”
“No need to hash it out, Kelsey. What happened, happened. Just let it be.”
“Let it be? It’s not that easy for me, JP. You made me feel—” She catches herself and then takes a deep breath. “That was a wild thing for me to do, especially with a co-worker who technically oversees everything I do. Not to mention, I went on a date with another man last night. How on earth is that okay?”
With a crisp snap, I bite off a chunk of apple and chew it thoughtfully. “It’s actually just fine. These standards, these rules you seem to be putting on yourself are just that—self-induced rules. You can live your life the way you want. Stop judging yourself.”
“Stop trying to act like what happened last night was okay.”
“It was okay. We could’ve done more.”
“JP, I’m not that kind of girl,” she snaps. She’s really worked up. Even though she came last night with her eyes on me, she’s anything but okay with it. “I . . . I don’t do those kinds of things, and for some reason, I can’t seem to be my normal self around you. I lose my mind and start thinking that it’s okay to be sexually provocative.”
“It is okay for you to be sexually provocative,” I say.
“But I don’t want to be. I want so much more than sexual gratification.” Her voice wavers. “God, I don’t know why I’m talking to you about this when it isn’t something you understand.”
“Because I’m not the relationship kind of guy, right?”
“Right,” she says, not holding back. “Last night was probably a silly game to you and I was a pawn.”
“You weren’t a pawn in my game.” My voice grows tighter with irritation.
She folds her arms. “Then what was it? Because I can’t think of a good reason why we’d do that.”
“I don’t know, Kelsey, maybe because there’s a sexual attraction between us? Is that too hard to believe? Maybe we were so inflamed with need that we let our will slip last night.”
“Well . . . it won’t be happening again,” she says, looking away.
“Gathered that,” I mumble as I walk over to the couch and take a seat next to her.
Why? Why can’t I shift her thinking? Last night was testimony to how good we could be together. Sexually. But she’s clear on what she wants.
“I don’t do those kinds of things . . . I can’t seem to be my normal self around you. I lose my mind and start thinking that it’s okay to be sexually provocative. I want so much more than sexual gratification.”
And I want to give her so much more than simple sexual gratification. Remorse strikes me, knowing that I put her on the defensive again.
Get a fucking clue, Cane.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Sitting in front of your iPad so when Huxley calls, he can see me. Is that a problem?”
“No,” she says, leaning back on the couch. I do the same and, together, we sit in silence, letting the time tick by while we wait for Huxley to call.
Unsure of what to do, I offer her my apple, and to my surprise, she takes it. Maybe it’s a peace offering, I don’t know, but I don’t like how angry she is at me, especially since last night, hell . . . it was probably wrong, but fuck, it felt good. Sliding my cock along her slit, feeling how goddamn turned on she was, it was a high I couldn’t kick, and I needed so much more. When I got back to my room, I hopped in the shower and quickly made work of my erection, thinking of her surprised face when she orgasmed. I was done in seconds.
“I’m sorry about last night,” I say quietly. “I was in a bad place. I’ll be honest, Kelsey. I think you’re really hot. I lost control, and I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable.”
The apple is halfway to her mouth, but she pauses and turns to me. I hang my head to the side so we’re staring into each other’s eyes. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I think I freaked out, and rather than acting like a normal human being, I blamed everything on you when I shouldn’t have. In the moment, when everything was happening, I wanted it. I wanted it so bad.”
That brings a smile to my face and eases the tightness in my chest.
I tug on my hair. “Yeah, I wanted it bad, too. I think there was only one shred of self-control left that held me back from tearing that bustier off and fucking you.”
Her teeth roll over her lip and she says, “I would’ve let it happen.”
“Hell,” I groan, dragging my hand over my face. “Don’t say that.”
She chuckles. “I was sad last night. You were right about Derek. He didn’t kiss me, and I was feeling really low. I clung to you in all the wrong ways. I should’ve just talked to you like I’m talking to you now.”
I hold my arm out and, to my relief, she moves into my grasp, resting her head on my chest while I hug her closely. “You didn’t have a chance to talk to me. I provoked you right away. In all honesty, I was sad you weren’t at the Mayor’s Ball with me, and I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have.”
She lifts up. “You were sad about that?”
I nod. “Yeah, I’d had fun the previous two nights and, I don’t know, I didn’t want to go alone. I forgot about your date, though.”
“You should’ve said something, I would’ve rescheduled.”
I wish you hadn’t gone on the date at all.
“Nah, you were excited about it. I should’ve acted more respectfully, but that’s sort of hard for me. I don’t make the right choices sometimes, and last night it showed. I’m really sorry, Kelsey.”
“Don’t be,” she says, resting back on my chest. I hold her close, wishing this is what we were normally like, that this was a typical Saturday morning for us. “I think we both treated each other unfairly. I used you because I was feeling empty after that date, and I never should have.”
“It really didn’t go well?” I ask her, hoping she’ll say yes.
“I thought it did.”
Damn.
“But it ended . . .” She pauses and buries her head farther into my chest. “God, this is so embarrassing and I can’t believe I’m even considering telling you.”
I gently drag my fingers through the long strands as I say, “No judgment here.”
She groans and then says, “God, he gave me a handshake last night as a goodbye.”
“A handshake?” I ask. Jesus, dude, way to fucking blow it with the most irresistible woman.
“Yes, I was mentally preparing for a kiss, followed up by an ‘I’ll call you,’ or ‘let’s do this again,’ maybe even a possible ‘I can’t wait to see you again.’ But I got a thank you and a handshake, and then I was on my way. It was such a letdown because I thought there was chemistry.” She shakes her head. “I was so sad when I came home. All I can think about is what’s wrong with me? What’s so horrible about me that I’d pull a handshake out of a man? I mean, not even a hug?”
“Nothing is wrong with you, Kelsey. Trust me, nothing is fucking wrong with you. You’re perfect.”
She shakes her head again. “I’m not.”
I lean away and lift her chin so our eyes connect. “Kelsey, you’re fucking perfect,” I say again, trying to convey to her how goddamn right I am about this. “Derek is a fool for not kissing you last night. And I’m sorry that he left you feeling anything less than what you truly are. Fuck. I’m so sorry for how I treated you last night.”
She shakes her head. “In that moment, I needed it. I needed to feel wanted and beautiful. I’m just sorry I used you.”
“You didn’t use me, Kelsey. I wanted that just as much as you did. There was no using involved.”
She softly smiles. “Well, I guess, thank you.” She shrugs and it causes me to laugh. “I know you said we’re short-term companions and you will probably deny it until you’re blue in the face, but your friendship means a lot to me.”
Like a goddamn dagger to the heart. I’ve been friend-zoned.
After everything we’ve been through, after last night, after the dates, I’m stuck right there, as her friend.
Fuck.
I continue to stroke her hair, disappointment passing through me. “Yeah, same, babe.”
And because he has the WORST timing ever, Huxley calls. Kelsey lifts from my chest, adjusts herself, and then reaches out to the propped-up iPad and accepts the call.
Huxley and Lottie come onscreen and Kelsey quickly waves. “Hi.”
“Hey, good morning,” Lottie says. “Hope this wasn’t too early. I know you had a date last night.” Lottie wiggles her eyebrows.
“No, this is fine. Is everything okay?” Kelsey asks.
“She’s worried you’re going to fire her,” I say, causing Kelsey to push me.
“Why would I fire you?” Huxley says, speaking up now. “You’re doing excellent work.”
“Oh, that’s just how Kelsey is,” Lottie answers. “She always thinks she’s going to get fired. But this has nothing to do with work.”
“No, nothing like that,” Huxley says. “And for the record, Kelsey, you have nothing to worry about. JP took care of Regis last night.”
Jesus Christ, this guy.
Kelsey quickly looks toward me, but I ignore her probing eyes and ask, “So what’s the phone call for?”
Lottie loops her arm through Huxley’s and says, “Well, while going through all these wedding meetings, we’ve come to the conclusion that a big fancy wedding isn’t necessary. We’re getting married in a month instead.”
“A month?” Kelsey asks. “Oh wow, that’s really soon. Will you have enough time to plan everything?”
“Yes. You’d be surprised how quickly things can get done when the right checkbook is involved,” Huxley says.
“It’s true. He’s been flashing around dollar signs to everyone, and things are getting done. But we’re calling because it’s going to be a rooftop wedding in Malibu that overlooks the ocean. We’re inviting about one hundred people and keeping it pretty small. Don’t worry, you each get a plus-one.” Lottie winks at Kelsey. “Maybe you can bring Derek. Dave and Ellie will be there.”
Fucking wonderful.
“Yeah, maybe,” Kelsey says, but her voice is distant.
“Anyway, we’ll send the details over shortly. We wanted to call you and tell you the big news. When it came down to it, we just wanted to be married, so we thought this would be a perfect combination for both of us.”
“Sounds dreamy,” Kelsey says just as a text message pops up at the top of her iPad screen.
My eyes make quick work of reading it before Kelsey can swipe it away.
Derek: Hey, Kelsey, I had a great time last night. Can we please do it again while you’re here?
My jaw clenches and sweat breaks out on the back of my neck.
I know I’m friend-zoned.
I know she’ll never see me as someone to date.
But fuck . . . I don’t need to see Derek swooping in while things are still raw.
“Are you still going to have a bridal shower or anything like that?” Kelsey asks.
“Um, I think just a lingerie party. Something small. Nothing too crazy. We don’t need anything, but I know Hux here would appreciate the lingerie.”
Huxley scratches his jaw. “I would.”
Bing.
Another text.
Like a moth to a flame, my eyes zero in on the text message.
Derek: And sorry about not kissing you last night. I really wanted to. I just got . . .
The rest of the text message is hidden, but I get the gist of it. Derek is a goddamn pussy and is now ruining my life by coming in hot with the text messages the next morning.
I don’t think life could be any more frustrating.
We spend the next five minutes talking. I’m zoning out the whole time, wondering why this couldn’t have been texted or emailed to us. Why this required a FaceTime call. Because now I know that Derek still wants to take Kelsey out, and knowing Kelsey, she’s going to be 100 percent excited about this.
Just as we’re about to hang up, one more message comes in.
Derek: I’m free today if you want to have a picnic in the park with me.
Gag me.
Jesus Christ, Derek, give her a chance to respond before you write a fucking novel about how you feel, how you fucked up, and how you want to make it up to her.
“JP, do you still need to talk?” Huxley asks, pulling me from the anger simmering in the pit of my stomach.
“What? Ah, nah, I’m good,” I say in the most even-toned voice I can muster.
“Okay.” Huxley eyes me. “Text me if you need anything.”
“So excited for you two,” Kelsey says before we all say bye and she disconnects the call. I’m prepared for her to run off and read her text messages, but instead, she turns toward me and asks, “What did Huxley mean when he said you took care of Regis?”
Of course she’d remember that.
I stand from the couch and say, “Nothing to worry about.”
“I am worried,” she says, standing as well. “Clearly, it had something to do with me. What was it?”
“He was just being a dick and I set him straight, is all. It’s not a big deal so don’t make it one.”
“You saw him at the ball last night?”
I exhale sharply and go to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water. “Yes, I saw him there last night. Addressed the issue and moved on.”
“What was the issue?”
“Jesus, Kelsey, I said it wasn’t a big deal, so just drop it.”
She winces from my strong tone. “Okay, I just . . . I don’t know. I thought if I understand what’s going on, maybe I can do better.”
“You don’t need to do better. I told you, you’re perfect. Regis was the one who needed to do better.” I chug my water and set down the glass before working my way back to the hallway that leads to my room.
“Where are you going?”
“To my room,” I say.
“You seem angry again.”
Not angry.
I’m hurt.
Disappointed.
Aching for a chance I know I won’t get.
“We just don’t need to talk about it, okay?”
“Okay,” she says, twisting her hands in front of her. “What are you doing today?”
“Not sure,” I answer. “But it seems like you have plans.”
“Yeah, I guess you saw those messages.” She moves her foot in front of her. “What do you think I should do?”
Not come to me for dating advice, that’s for damn sure.
“I thought we had a good time, but I felt really let down by him last night. I don’t know.”
“Seems like you have a choice to make, then,” I say.
“But what if it’s not the right choice?” she calls out.
“I’m sure it’ll be a better choice than the one you made last night,” I answer before shutting the door to my room and flopping onto my bed.
Hollow.
That’s how I feel, absolutely hollow.
For a brief moment last night, when Kelsey’s eyes were on me and she was coming, and then earlier when I had her in my arms, everything felt right. I felt right. Ready. But now, lying here alone on my bed, knowing that once again what I had with her was a brief intermission during her quest to find Mr. Right, I just feel . . . hollow.
“DUDE, how many drinks have you had?” Breaker asks.
“Not enough,” I answer as I tip back another glass of Scotch.
When I caught sight of Kelsey dressed in a light blue sundress, hair and makeup all done, her decision was clear—she was giving Derek another shot, and this time, he’ll fucking kiss her. So, I went to my phone, asked the concierge to bring up a bottle of Scotch and some of those fancy balls of ice, and that’s what I’ve been doing ever since she left.
Drinking.
In my shorts.
I showered because I didn’t want to sit in my filth all day, but I did nothing with my hair. I’ve spent the day so far drinking and watching Planet Earth documentaries, letting David Attenborough soothe my massacred soul.
If you’re wondering if it’s worked . . .
It has not.
But at least I haven’t been entirely alone.
Nope, Scotch and the threat of polar bears losing their homes has lived with me through this moment.
That, and my thousands of text messages to Breaker about how we need to do more for the polar bears, which resulted in me donating to the World Wildlife Fund, earmarked to Save the Polar Bear, which of course made me feel guilty that I was cheating on the pigeons. So, I ended up donating another ten thousand to the pigeons.
After I sent him five pictures of pigeons that need to be fostered or adopted, he called me.
“And what’s with the pigeon pictures? Should I be worried? Those things shit all over the place, so do you really want to adopt one?”
“You shit all over the place,” I say. “Don’t talk about the pigeons like that. There are thousands of pigeons being euthanized because no one wants to adopt them. No one wants to take care of their vet bills. Everyone wants to be the person who saves the cute kitten with one eye, the dog in a wheelchair, or the rabbit with no teeth. But what about the flightless pigeons? For fuck’s sake, who’s taking care of them?”
“Hey, JP, dude . . . are you having a mental health crisis?”
“No,” I shout and stand. “I’m not. I’m just a concerned citizen. You walk around these streets, never noticing pigeons, thinking they’re just an accessory to a Bob Ross landscape, and then, bam, you hear pigeons are being euthanized and the world comes tumbling down around you. Sure, I saved the polar bears today because looking at those emaciated motherfuckers made me physically ill but, dude, I’m going to start a goddamn campaign, and the logo will be a pigeon in flight. And the money will go to saving all the pigeons because no one cares about them. No one thinks they’re worth their time. Just because a pigeon might have a fucked-up childhood and can’t fly like the rest of the birds, that doesn’t mean that the pigeon should be isolated.”
“Uh . . . JP, are you . . . are you a pigeon?”
“I’m a fucking man, you nimrod! Jesus Christ, are you even listening to me?”
“Are you listening to yourself?”
“I am. I am listening, and I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who fucking cares about those angelic, stout-bodied birds.”
“So, are you going to adopt one?”
“What? God, no. Fuck, imagine me with a goddamn pigeon. What the hell would I do with it?”
“I honestly don’t know, dude. You sound like you need a hobby or a friend.”
“Or a girlfriend,” I mutter as I sit back down in my chair.
“A girlfriend?” Breaker asks. “Tell me more about this, because as far as I know, you’ve never really wanted one.”
“Well, you know what, fuckstick? People change. Okay? Why can’t anyone see that? People fucking change, and I think it’s time that we all sit down, have a glass of wine, and talk about how someone named a freaking pigeon Kazoo and got away with it.”
“What’s wrong with the name Kazoo?”
“It’s such a slap in the face to the pigeon community. Let’s name this majestic feathered friend after a simple twenty-five cent child’s toy that gives the vocalist a timbral quality when playing it.”
“I love you, man, but I really think you’ve lost it.”
“No.” I shake my head. “Nope, I’m seeing things so fucking clearly right now. Like a goddamn crystal.”
“It seems like that crystal is foggy.”
“Fuck, do you know what I should do?”
“Seek a counselor?”
“I should send an email.”
“Uh, what sort of email? You know, sending emails while intoxicated is never a good idea.”
“I’m not intoxicated. I’m finally seeing things the way that I should.”
“And how is that?” Breaker asks.
“Well, I want a girlfriend, and I need a date for the wedding, so I should send an email.”
“Wait, can we go back to this ‘wanting a girlfriend’ thing? Where’s this coming from?”
“Dude, can’t you fucking keep up?”
“No, I really can’t. One moment you’re talking about pigeons, and the next you’re saying you’re going to send an email about girlfriends. I really think we should slow down, reel it in, and maybe drink some coffee.”
I heave a heavy sigh. “Christ, I told you how I like Kelsey, how the urge to be around her is so consuming that I feel like . . . fuck, I feel like I can’t breathe. She’s so fucking pretty, and her smile makes me happy, and the way she laughs creates a bolt of lust straight to my cock. And she’s so weird and quirky and likes love but is terrible at it for some reason. And fuck is she uptight about things like organization and she loves being right, but I like that about her because she’s neurotic and I’m a bit neurotic in my own way—fucking pigeons, you know, man—so I think we’d make a great fucking couple but she doesn’t like me and just wants to be my friend because she thinks that I’m just some player who can’t commit and, sure, maybe that’s in my past, but like I said, people change and I want to change for her, but she doesn’t want to see that so she friend-zoned me and she’s now going out with Derek, who didn’t even fucking kiss her on the first date, what a douche. He shook her hand. Like, dude, have you fucking seen this girl? She’s not handshake material, she’s marriage material. She’s the girl that you take home to your parents. You don’t fucking shake her hand at the end of a date, you kiss her, claim her, make her yours. Well, she’s going out with him again, so I need a girlfriend, so I’m going to send an email.”
“Ah . . . fuck. And an email to who?”
“To everyone.”
“You know, I really think we shouldn’t do the email thing. That seems like a bad idea.”
“It seems like a great one to me.”
“Because you’re drunk,” Breaker says. “Spending fifty grand on pigeons seems like a good idea to you.”
“It was only twenty grand altogether. Fuck, should it have been fifty?”
“That’s not the point. I think you should just calm down, take a deep breath and, JP, if you really like her, I think you should try to date her.”
“And how do you suppose I go about doing that?”
“I have some ideas, but I don’t think saying them right now is going to help you. Not sure you’ll retain anything. I’m going to text you, and you can read it in the morning, when your mind is . . . fresh.”
“I’m fresh as fuck right now.”
“It’s cute that you think that. Listen, don’t email anybody right now. That’s a bad idea. Maybe cap that bottle you’re drinking from, go get some food, and park it in your room for the rest of the night. You don’t want to say or do something stupid. If you really like Kelsey, then let me help you figure out a way to show that.”
“Think a pigeon will carry a note to her?”
“Great possibility, man.”
I sigh again. “Okay.”
“Okay? So, you’re going to go get some food, and we’ll talk in the morning.”
“Yeah.”
“And no emailing.”
“Right, no emailing.”
“Good. And hey, not sure I said this, but good job being a voice for the pigeons, man. You’re doing God’s work.”
I clutch my chest. “Thank you, that means a lot to me.”
After some goodbyes, I hang up feeling marginally better. I saved the polar bears and the pigeons and I’m going to win Kelsey. What a productive afternoon.
Pleased with myself, I cap the Scotch bottle like Breaker said, pick up my empty glass, and head toward the kitchen. Just then, I hear the door open, and I pause in the hallway, holding my breath.
She’s home.
Do I want her to see me like this?
Probably not.
I know I told Breaker I wasn’t drunk, but let’s call a spade a spade—I’m fucking sitting pretty right now, and I don’t need to mess up anything with Kelsey because Scotch has been my mistress this afternoon. So, I spin on my heel and head for my bedroom, but I stop when I hear a male voice.
I quickly turn back around. No fucking way did she bring him back here.
I slide along the wall, hoping to stay undetected as I attempt to eavesdrop on a conversation I’ve no right listening to.
I grow closer and closer. Then I hear Kelsey.
“Thank you so much for walking me up here. You really didn’t have to.”
Yeah, you didn’t have to, fucker. She’s more than capable, she’s done it many times already.
“I just felt bad, the way I left you last time.”
Because you’re a moron.
“Well, thank you. I had a nice time,” Kelsey says in her sweet voice, and I swear if I hear them kiss, I’ll fucking melt into a puddle of despair right here.
“Me too.”
I hold my breath.
I wait for the telltale sound of two mouths colliding.
I’m tempted to whip around the corner and watch desperately as they say goodbye.
“I’ll call you,” Derek finally says, and I can’t tell if they kissed, hugged, or shook hands again, but it’s nearly killing me.
“Okay, sounds good. Have a good rest of your day.”
The door shuts, and I stand there against the wall, unmoving as I attempt to tell myself to move, to get out of here, to not look like a peeping Tom. But the unknown of whether or not they kissed is keeping me in place, my mind reeling. What is she feeling right now?
“JP?” she asks, looking down the hallway at me plastered against the wall, tumbler in one hand, Scotch in the other. “What are you doing?”
Errrr . . .
What am I doing?
Well, honest truth—trying to decide if I need to finish this bottle based on if he kissed you or not.
But that doesn’t seem like a safe answer. Even in my drunken state, I know that’s not a safe answer, so I go with the second-best thing . . .
“Smelling.”
“Smelling?” she asks, her face tightening in confusion. “What are you smelling?”
“The wall,” I answer, and then to my horror, I spin around, plant my nose right on the wall, and take a big old whiff.
Whoa . . . why does that smell like kielbasa?
“Why are you smelling the wall?”
Great, solid question.
And unfortunately, I don’t have a great, solid answer to match it.
“Favorite pastime,” I say. “Smell a wall in your spare time. Anyway, so you’re back from your date.”
“Are you okay?” she asks, taking a step closer.
“Fine,” I answer, gripping the neck of the bottle tighter. “Just, uh, thirsty.” I hold up the Scotch. “Going back to my room. Watching a documentary about dying polar bears. Don’t worry, I donated to help them . . . and the pigeons.” I swallow. “Anyway, just going to do that. But, yeah, glad you had a nice time and you look . . . you look beautiful in that dress. But that’s neither here nor there. It’s just an observation.” My throat grows tight. Why is it tightening? Am I . . . fuck, am I feeling emotion?
“JP, are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah,” I choke out. “Sorry if that beautiful comment made you feel weird. I just . . . I just think that you look really nice. Really pretty. But you know, you’re dating Derek. Was his kiss good?” I hold up the bottle. “Wait, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. None of my business. I don’t want to know. I just . . . man, those polar bears, they’re really thin. You can see their ribs. And I’m going to write a letter to the pigeon place, and tell them they shouldn’t name a pigeon Kazoo. He looks more like a Kevin. Just my honest opinion. So, yeah, okay. Well, I’ll, uh, see you later.”
I turn and practically run to my room. I slam the door and lock it for safe keeping.
Fuck, what was that shit?
Embarrassing, that’s what it was.
I set down my Scotch glass on my nightstand and pour myself multiple fingers. I can’t imagine what she must think of me, but it can’t be good. And Derek, fuck, I think they kissed. I didn’t hear any lip smacking, but they might be quiet kissers. That motherfucker kissed her before I did and that stings.
I know her better.
We’ve been acquainted for longer.
I’ve pined after this girl for fucking months.
And he kissed her first.
I don’t even know the fucker, but it makes me so goddamn . . . sad.
Fuck.
I tip back my tumbler, sucking down some more Scotch. I don’t like this pain I’m feeling. I don’t like these emotions souring through me. I don’t like any of it. I want to be numb. I want to not have to deal with these self-deprecating thoughts. I don’t want to think about their date, what they did or didn’t do, or if she’s texting him right now. Or if she’s telling Lottie how much she likes Derek, how she wants to take him to the wedding.
The wedding . . .
I spend the next half hour downing the rest of the bottle until there’s only an inch left.
I cry about the polar bears, watching them all over again.
I send an email to the pigeon place, inquiring about Kazoo.
And I text Breaker that I’m a loser who masturbates to exhalations.
And sometime in the night, when I’m just about ready to pass out, I send one more email from my private account.
To: McKayla, Kenzie, Hattie, Eileen, Barbie, Olivia, Betty, Rita, Jessica, Tess, Pauline, Dominique, Miranda, Cara
From: JP Cane
Subject: Be my Date
Hey ladieeees,
Sending a big old cock of an email because, you know . . . I have a big cock, so this email has to match.
Here’s the thing. Hux is getting married to Lulu Lemon and they told me I need a plus-one. Looking for a willing candidate to escort me down the aisle.
All expenses paid. Promises of pleasure.
If interested, hit me up.
I wear condoms still.
K. Bye.
JP
FUCK.
Me.
Ohhhh . . . fuck.
My stomach rolls, my body heaves, and I’m clutching my toilet, puking for the third time this morning.
Please, Jesus, make it stop. I promise to never drink that much again, just make . . . the . . . puking . . .
Fuck.
My body rears back, my stomach revolts, and once again, I let it rip until there’s nothing left inside me.
I slide to the bathroom floor and rest my heated cheek on the cold tile.
If hell was a place, I imagine it being this, over and over again. A hangover with a constant, throbbing headache and matching nausea.
I take a few deep breaths as my phone buzzes next to me on the floor. Needing a distraction, I look and see that it’s Breaker.
Breaker: Are you alive this morning? You texted me a picture of Kazoo eleven times last night, all in a row. That leads me to believe you didn’t stop drinking.
I lean against the wall as I text him back.
JP: I think I used up one of my lives last night. I’m pretty sure I just threw up a boot.
Breaker: What the hell happened to “go get some food”?
JP: Kelsey’s date walked her back to the penthouse. I think they kissed. I lost it, man. I told her about the pigeons, rambled about sick polar bears, told her she was beautiful, and then went back to my room where I blacked out. So . . . yeah.
Breaker: Jesus. So, you didn’t listen to me at all.
JP: Nope.
Breaker: So, what are you going to do this morning?
JP: So far, retching. Not sure what the plan is after that.
Breaker: Do you really like her? Like . . . you want to go for this?
JP: I think after last night’s events, if I don’t at least try, I’m going to drink myself into an oblivion.
Breaker: Do you have any plans?
JP: Not even one.
Breaker: Okay, first, you need to stop being a dick to her, because that’s not winning her over. And start being her friend.
JP: Her friend? I’m already there. She friend-zoned me.
Breaker: Good, because now you can hang out with her without the pressure of sex. Show her that you’re fun, that you’re a good match for her. You know the attraction is there, but you need to work on the personality.
JP: If you haven’t noticed, I’m not very good at controlling my emotions.
Breaker: Not an excuse. Just work harder. If you want her to be with you, you need to show her that you can be the man she wants. You need to woo her.
JP: Woo her? Fuck . . . don’t use that term.
Breaker: But that’s the term she’d use. She’s a romantic. You have to do things that she’d notice, things that matter. Make her meals, pull out her chair, bring home things that remind you of her. Little touches here and there. And when you’re in the penthouse, hanging out, sit close to her. Don’t make it sexual, but let her know you’re there.
JP: Who made you the expert at this shit?
Breaker: No one, but I’m pretty damn sure I have a better idea than you at this moment.
JP: Fuck . . . fine.
Breaker: And, for the love of God, don’t go out there this morning until you’re done puking.
JP: Trust me, I’m smart enough to realize that.
