Chapter 15

Mark

His black Lamborghini pulled into the parking lot at the same time as I did. In the parking spot directly across from mine, no less. Jake practically bounded out of the car with a stupid smile on his face. My stomach dropped as I wondered about the cause.

“You look awfully chipper today,” I said, sarcastically.

He frowned, then gave me his own sarcastic smile.

“Yeah, probably because I had a really great night last night.”

“Oh yeah?” I challenged him, “Found some new Jenna Haze video to jerk off to?”

“Nope,” he said, smiling sanguinely back, “Someone even better—real and way hotter. Someone you know, actually.”

Now, I felt sick.

“No way—you didn’t actually f—”

“I did.”

I stood there for a minute, speechless. An image of Brooke and Jake flashed through my mind. Her shapely legs wrapped around him, her full breasts bouncing as he thrust into her—the pussy I’d been in as well. Rage seethed through me.

“What’s wrong? You’re the one who told me to,” Jake pointed out.

Now there was less of an irritable edge to his voice, more concern.

“Nothing’s wrong,” I answered automatically through grit teeth.

That didn’t sound believable even to myself.

“Oh yeah?” Jake said, “Why don’t you tell that to your face?”

At this, the rage bubbling in my gut burst forth. I shoved Jake.

“You know what, bro? Fuck you. Your whole bit about bros before hos—I see how that turned out, eh?”

Jake gaped at me, shocked, before shoving me back.

“No—fuck you, Mark. You’re the one who told me to fuck Brooke. Now you’re just butt hurt that I got one of the girls that you didn’t even truly like anyway.”

“What the hell, guys?”

At the edge of the parking lot, was Brooke. She was wearing a hot little dress—and a very pissed-off expression.

“Please tell me that you two aren’t doing what it looks like you’re doing.”

“I told him what happened between us,” Jake said, “And I won’t apologize for it. He was the one who told me to.”

Now both eyes went to me.

“And?” Brooke said.

Irritation flashed through me.

“And—I don’t know—it’s a bit weird, okay? Having my best friend sleep with the last girl I did. Frankly, I’m as surprised by my reaction as you guys are, okay? So just lay off.”

I stormed off into the building. As I did, I couldn’t resist a look behind me. Jake and Brooke were still in the parking lot, talking. About me? Were they making plans to meet up tonight already?

I clenched and unclenched my fist. Be cool, Mark. This was just new for me, that’s all. It wasn’t like I actually had feelings for Brooke or anything.

One foot inside the waiting room, and Deidre pounced on me.

“Mark, I’m really sorry.”

Seconds later, I was met with just what she was sorry for. Packed—that’s what the waiting room was. Literally stuffed from one side to the other with patients and patients-to-be.

I opened my mouth, then closed it, remembering how Brooke had begged me to take it easy on Deidre.

“Just send the first one in, I’ll be in Consultation Room A,” I told her.

“Shouldn’t we wait until Jake gets here?” she asked, “You two normally do consultations together.”

“No,” I told her.

And that was how, for the next few hours, I successfully avoided facing Mark or Brooke. One after another of the literal army that Deidre had somehow scheduled, I got through. Botox, breast augmentation, rhinoplasty, lip augmentation, more Botox—I ran through them like the machine I felt like. It was invigorating, and consuming. It felt good. The faster I ran through the patients, easily and effectively answering their questions and concerns, the less headspace I had to think about the whole Brooke situation.

Then noon hit. My stomach roared at me that it was lunchtime—or else. On my way out, I ran into Brooke.

“Hey,” I said, “you got the same bright idea as me? Oysters at Olly’s?”

She grinned. Her lips were a different color today—a deep burgundy. It set off her green eyes beautifully. Had she done that for me—or Jake?

“Kinda,” she was saying, “Jake invited me to Olly’s for some chicken marinara.”

And just like that, the eager smile was wiped right off my face.

“You’ll come, right?” Brooke said, her eyes going wary.

Just then Jake came up, the smile on his face rapidly disappearing at the sight of me.

“Mark’s going to join us,” Brooke told him, happily.

“No, actually I’m not,” I said, “Not really feeling fish. Sorry. See you guys later!”

And just like that, I walked away. Better that I didn’t catch the disappointed look on Brooke’s face. I only stopped hurrying once I was safely in the elevator—and away from them.

As I made my way out of the building, my mind started mulling over all that had happened in the past few hours. What was going on with me? Jake was right—I had told him to go ahead and fuck Brooke. But the Mark then and the Mark now seemed like two different people entirely. Mark then hadn’t figured that Jake would actually do it. More than that, he hadn’t figured he would’ve actually cared. And yet, I did, didn’t I?

I picked up a burger at McDonald’s and kept on walking, letting my legs take me where they would. Only several minutes later, once I’d reached the black stone gate, did I realize where I was. Oh, Grandma. Still, I didn’t stop myself now—I’d come this far, might as well go the rest of the way.

As soon as I was inside, I padded through the grass, threaded through the tombstones, many which were flat and nearly illegible. Maybe it was just me—or the odd time—but the cemetery seemed even calmer than usual.

Odd. How the sun was so bright and cheerful in the baby blue sky, resting amidst huge pillows of clouds. Birds were chirping eagerly. The grass was soft and cushy under my feet. And yet, actually reaching my grandmother’s tombstone was the last thing I wanted to do, for some reason. Hers was right next to the willow tree. I’d requested that—and the small modest size of the tombstone. I’d tried to get grandma to agree to a crypt, but she wouldn’t hear of it.

“I was just a nice hometown lady in my life, why would I pretend to be any different in death?” she’d declared, with a stoic nod of her boney chin.

Now I was stopped in front of her tombstone. And I didn’t have the slightest idea why. True, I did often come here during hard times—for guidance maybe. Like when Jake had been struggling about his ex. Jake. Brooke.

What the hell was going on with me?

The answer was somewhere between my grandma, my crack-head mom, and my absent dad. And Brooke, maybe. I scanned my mind for all the women I’d been with: the white ones, black ones, Asian ones; the thin ones and curvier ones, the tall ones and short ones. I tried to remember the kind and bitchy ones, the fun and boring ones, the smart ones, and yet, all these different women were all blurred now into one woman—who was fun but predictable, pretty but forgettable. Sure, before I’d had them I was driven by a single-minded thirst to conquer, but after? They were filed in with the rest—a nice experience, but one that didn’t necessarily have to be repeated. So why hadn’t the same thing happened with Brooke?

My gaze was boring into the grey granite of the tombstone. Marilyn Sawyer.

Then, I turned on my heel and left. This was ridiculous. The only reason I hadn’t gotten over Brooke yet was because my best friend had fucked her—and I hadn’t fucked anyone else. That was the answer. It had to be.

Back at the office, Jake and Brooke were already dealing with an operation. I continued rapidly dealing with the influx of customers here for a preliminary or follow-up consultation. By 3:45 p.m., I’d cleared out the whole group. Brooke and Jake were still dealing with the operation, and probably would be for a few more minutes. So, giving Deidre a casual nod, as if my superhuman consultation skills hadn’t saved the day, I left.

One foot into the Marble Room, and I was reminded of Brooke and Jake. So, the first thing I did when I sat down, was order a pitcher of beer.

I drank only one glass at first, doing a 360 around the room, eyeing the other patrons. No matter what bullshit people spewed about ‘quality me time,’ there was something about sitting in a bar alone that was distinctly depressing. If Jake were here, we probably would have toasted to about five different things already, as well as played eye spy. It was perfect for having fun—and meeting girls, that is.

Speaking of, there was a nice tan brunette further down the bar eyeing me. I smiled at her. She smiled at me. She had big tits and a very white-toothed smile.

I ambled over beside her.

“Please tell me that you like beer,” I said.

She grinned.

“I might.”

“Okay,” I said, “Because the thing is—my normal drinking buddy and I are having a bit of a fight. And finishing this pitcher by myself would be too depressing for words. You wouldn’t condemn me to such a fate, would you?”

She laughed.

“I guess I could help.”

I slung my arm around her and patted her shoulder.

“My hero.”

Once the pitcher was halfway done, and the conversation had started to grow stale, I threw in the bait.

“So, at work the other day, there was this crazy operation. A kid needed stitches in his cheek—a dog bite. Looked like his face might end up being really messed up, but I managed to figure out a way that would work, and in the end managed to sew him up pretty good.”

The girl’s big brown eyes took me in, as she mentally added two and two together.

“You’re a surgeon?” she asked.

I grinned at her.

“Gotcha.”

Five minutes later, I was repeating history. We were giggling and rushing into the same bathroom as last time.

This girl’s lips were bigger but slower. They seemed to react only half-heartedly to my heated kisses. But when I grabbed her ass—I knew I’d hit gold. She let out a low groan, pawing at my chest.

I pressed her to the wall, unzipping her zipper crop-top shirt. Damn, did she have nice tits—big, full and bouncy, almost as nice as… I’m not thinking about that.

Pausing, I glanced in the mirror. I was actually wearing the same shirt as last time—the same blue button-up as my last bathroom-fuck. Really, this wasn’t exciting at all, this wasn’t even new. I was just repeating the past—trying to get there. But this wasn’t like it had been then, and I certainly didn’t feel the way I did then. I didn’t want this hot half-naked tan brunette at all—I wanted Brooke. And I wanted Jake, my drinking buddy, my friend.

This—as exciting as it had been for a moment—didn’t change anything. I drew back and away.

“Sorry, I can’t.”

And then I left, because there was no use pretending anymore.