Page 46 of That First Night

“You bastard,” he huffs as he sits down on the couch. “It’s bad enough these guys want to do this signing on a Sunday. I don’t understand why this can’t wait until tomorrow.”

“Trust me, I don’t feel like doing this either. Especially with James being sick.”

“How’s he feeling?”

“I think he’s on the mend,” I say, pulling out my phone to show him the last text from Peyton. “This was the most recent update.”

He reads the phone for a brief second and his eyes shoot back to me, and he starts laughing. “Alright, let’s hear it.”

“Hear what?”

“I just saw the last message and your one-word response back.” He laughs. “And I didn’t miss the other three responses back to her from you, either. All one word. You don’t even send one-word texts to us when you’re annoyed.”

I run my hand through my hair and down my face out of frustration. Of course he saw that and that’s what he chooses to point out. Marc will find any opportunity to call me out on being the asshole that I am.

“I’m trying to remain professional,” I say as I straighten my tie.

“That’s a fucking lie,” he scoffs.

I sink down into my chair because I know he’s right. “You’re right. It’s a lie. I am so beyond screwed with Peyton. I think I fucked up last night.”

“What do you mean? You couldn’t get it up?” He laughs out loud.

I pick up the stress ball sitting on my desk and chuck it at him like I’m a pitcher in the major leagues. Marc starts laughing harder at the fact that I threw a soft little stress ball at him like it would cause damage or something.

“It went up just fine. Thank you very much,” I scoff. “In fact, it was so hard that I thought I was going to burst the seams of my pants.”

“First of all, I don’t need details on how hard your dick gets,” he snaps. “Second of all, why was it still in your pants?”

“We never got far enough to remove my pants because our cock blocking sister had to call me.”

“But you got somewhere?”

“Yes.” I smirk. “I ate her on the kitchen counter like a starved bear who has been in hibernation for two years.”

“Damn,” was all that Marc could get out after being rendered speechless.

“Yeah.” I shrug. “So, the dilemma is that Emiline called about James and then Peyton ran out of the kitchen. I am like 99.9% sure she regrets what happened.”

“Did she say that to you?”

“Well... no, not exactly,” I say, as I run my hands through my hair.

Marc stands up from the couch and crosses the office to stand in front of my desk. His face is painted with the most stoic and serious features. “Listen Tommy, I am going to be honest with you here for a second and I want you to listen closely. You are not the relationship type. You never have been.”

“Gee thanks,” I say, rolling my eyes at him.

“Are you going to tell me I’m wrong, Tommy?” He crosses his arms in front of his chest.

“Her sister was a witch. The wicked witch of the East, bro,” I add because I can’t not say it when someone says that. I love to piss him off and I will find any opportunity to do it.

“You’re dumb as fuck,” he laughs. “What I was getting at before you rudely interrupted me is that I see the way you get so flustered over Peyton. I don’t know what she looks like or much about her other than the fact that she has you by the balls,” he scoffs. “I understand both of you are trying to keep it professional, but what is so wrong about doing this with her and maybe trying to pursue a relationship?”

“You know I can’t do that,” I snap back. “I don’t do relationships and the one time I tried, she left me and James.”

“That doesn’t solidify your point because you didn’t love Sheila. That wasn’t even a real relationship. You tolerated her because of James.”

“I don’t love Peyton either,” I mutter back, as I start to get our things together for our meeting.