Page 57

“Marco!” the blonde one calls out.
“Polo!” giggles the redhead.
They’re each taking off their bras now, tossing them to the shore.
“Marco!” she calls out again.
“Polo!” the other calls.
I make my way to the water, dark and glistening under the full moon. The water is cold and uninviting, but the half-naked women in front of me are invitation enough. Maybe they’re what I need to forget.
I wake up the next morning with a pounding headache, as if it has fists fighting to get out of my poor head. I groan as I roll over onto my back. The sun trickling in through the white linen curtains seems to be laughing at me as it pounds against my eyelids. I force them open and look around. I’m in my bedroom, the bed empty beside me.
For some reason, I feel relieved that I’m not waking up to one of those women, or both, when in the past I would feel pride for bagging two at a time. I sit up and see that I’m down to my briefs and they’re still damp from the ocean. I pull the sheets off me and throw on a shirt before padding out of the room toward the kitchen in search of water and something to help my headache.
I stop in my tracks when I see the two women from last night, lying half naked on the sectional couch in my living room. I clear my throat loudly and they stir slightly.
“Good morning,” I say.
“Good morning,” they groan in unison as they roll over lazily and look at me.
I guess I’m not the only one hungover. I try to keep my eyes up and not at their naked breasts. They’re not modest about it either.
“What happened last night?” I ask sheepishly.
“We had way too many shots of tequila,” says the redhead, rubbing at her temples.
“Body shots,” the blonde corrects her.
“And danced on the bar.”
“And then we somehow got back here.”
“And went for a night swim.”
They continue to ping-pong back and forth, filling in the gaps of last night. I wait for the part about why I woke up alone and they’re out here.
“Then you made us sleep on the couch,” says the blonde with a roll of her eyes.
“I did?” I ask, scratching my head. That’s not like me.
“You kept saying something about someone named Erica,” shrugs the redhead.
“Is she your girlfriend or something?” asks the blonde, a tone of jealousy in her voice.
“Something like that,” I lie. “Look, I have to get back to Manhattan. I can have my driver come and pick you up. But first, you should probably find your clothes.”
Once I help the two women find their clothes strewn on the back deck, and they disappear in my town car, I make myself a greasy breakfast, even though it’s noon. I cook up some eggs and bacon and toast in hopes it will settle my stomach. I chug a large glass of ice water and down two painkillers. Afterward, I pack my suitcase, and once my driver gets back, we start the drive back to Manhattan.
The car ride is rough on my stomach. I feel like I might hurl at any time. And I keep thinking about how, even when I’m practically incoherent, Erica still has a hold on me. I could have had a threesome with two beautiful, young women last night, but I didn’t because of her. We aren’t even together. We never really were. I can’t wrap my head around how I’ve become this man now. The one who pines after someone, especially when I’m so angry at them.
When I arrive back in Manhattan, it’s nearly 4 p.m., and all I want to do is crawl in bed and sleep off the hangover that I trieddesperately to get rid of with no luck. After I shower, I close my blackout shades in my room and fall into bed, not caring that I haven’t had dinner. Sleep comes easily, and soon it’s the next morning.
As I roll out of bed after a solid fourteen hours of sleep, I brace myself for the day ahead. I’ve never taken this much time off work, so I know there will be plenty to catch up on, but that’s not what’s pressing. I’m more worried about running into Erica after everything that happened between us. I haven’t seen her in over a week. I know she’s probably settled in her new department now, which is conveniently across the floor from me.Maybe I won’t see her,I lie to myself, thinking I don’t want to.
I’ve only been at work an hour, and I’ve already vowed to never take time off again. The emails I have piled up in my inbox are enough to push me over the edge, but there are a few meetings that I had Jessica reschedule last minute, not expecting the repercussions of doing so. I have a couple pissed off partners demanding answers. It takes me all morning to try and smooth things over with them, and I hate that I have to grovel with the few hastier ones, but it has to be done to keep them happy.
After lunch, I feel like I’m on a warpath and somehow the rest of the office can sense it. Most everyone I pass avoids my gaze. Even Jessica is busying herself with who knows what to keep her distance. Seeing Erica’s empty office just worsens my mood, even though I was the one behind it. I want to come up with some excuse to head in her direction, but I can’t think of anything.