Chapter 7
JAMES
I should have been surprised.
But I wasn’t.
To the sound of the weather report on the TV (I couldn’t leave it on the nature channel; it reminded me too much of last night and him), I got undressed, put everything back in my bag, and typed out a text to my mother that I would, in fact, be coming out to the house for dinner with the family. Then I changed my mind, deleted the text, and pulled out some clean clothes to put on after my shower. While I stood naked in the bathroom staring at myself in the mirror, I changed my mind yet again and picked up my phone, typed out the text, then hit send before I could let myself change my mind again.
And then I changed my mind again.
“Fuuuck,” I breathed, exhausted with my own fickleness.
I turned on the shower, figuring I’d get washed up regardless of what I chose to do or not do. The water was a bit lukewarm and the pressure kind of weak. Also, one of the jets was a bit cockeyed, shooting water at the wall instead of me. Just that tiny flaw in the showerhead annoyed me to no end. I literally wrote a complaint letter to the manager in my head, and it sounded as bad and petty as you might imagine.
Of course, all of my frustration was really due to my feeling slightly used by a gorgeous young man last night. To be fair, he was in need, and I was obviously wishing to offer anything I could that I felt he wanted. The emotional temper tantrum that was being thrown in my head was like making a big show of donating to charity and expecting everyone to pat you on the back.
It really made me wonder whether any seemingly selfless act was, in fact, selfless.
After drying off and putting on my underwear, I went for a Q-tip—yes, it made me literally hear Lucky’s voice asking for cotton swabs—and then dabbed it in my left ear. It was halfway through twisting it in my right ear that a sudden, sickening thought struck me, freezing me in place.
I hurried out of the bathroom and went to my wallet, pulling it open in a panic.
All my cash and credit cards were still there, safe and sound.
I sighed with relief, then felt a stab of guilt.
Do I really think so lowly of him?
I lumbered tiredly back into the bathroom to finish up. I could not even bear to look at myself in the mirror, annoyed with all the thoughts that were bouncing back and forth in my head.
I wished he had stolen from me. He should have cleaned my wallet out. Maybe even stolen my clothes. I resented the fact that he didn’t do any of that.
I resented it because it made me like him even more.
He has a good heart, I thought to myself.
It would be so much easier to leave the casino today hating him. Then I could thank myself for the unique experience, go back to my totally comfortable life in Little Water where nothing ever changed, and jerk off seven times a week to what mischiefs could have happened this weekend if circumstances were different.
My phone was busy dancing on the bed when I came out of the bathroom. I glanced at the screen, then answered. “Hey.”
“Well, don’t you sound cheery,” deadpanned Duncan on the other end of the line. “Almost as cheery as I feel grading these papers all weekend. You’d think privilege and money could buy these teenaged shits a decent sense of grammar.”
“I thought you taught math.”
“I picked up English this year. This country is going to shit. Listen, do you want to get drunk tonight? I have a lot on my mind and, since we’re not hitting the Royal Flush until next weekend, I can go for a full pitcher or two. We’ll Uber afterwards.”
I bit my lip and turned toward the window. The big green face of Alberto’s Italian restaurant stared back from across the street, its twenty eyes of deeply-tinted windows unblinking and cold. If Duncan knew that I was in a room on the seventh floor of Hearts Tower right then, what would he have said? I knew Quinton would have given me shit for it. Lewis would have been pissed he wasn’t there, too. Duncan, however, was always the levelheaded, logical, straightforward one among us. Maybe he would understand.
“Listen,” I started as I turned away from the window and that stupid restaurant across the street. “I’m going to say something, and I need you to keep it between us … and to not judge me.”
“I’m already judging you.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
I took a deep breath. “I’m … I’m here.”
There was a second of silence. “Uh, at my house?”
“No. Here. Th-There. I’m there. At the …” Why was it so hard to say? “Duncan, I’m in a room at the Hearts Tower right now.”
“What?” His whole tone changed. “Why?”
“I met a guy.”
“What?? You—When? How?” Duncan snorted before I could answer and added, “Now I wish I hadn’t agreed to keep silent. Wait. I didn’t agree yet.”
“Duncan,” I warned him.
“Fine. Lame ass. So you met a dude. When? Last weekend?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“And you went back this weekend to see him again?”
“Bingo.”
“And … oh.” Duncan sighed. “So your point is, we can’t do drinks tonight. You know, of all your clever excuses to weasel out of hanging with me, this is certainly the most elaborate.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Really, this story of yours is more interesting than any of the thirty-seven papers I’ve graded since last night. Ugh.” He groaned into the phone. “I really, really, really need a drink.”
I dropped onto the bed on my back, the phone still pressed to my ear, and stared up at the flat white ceiling. “Well, as it turns out, I’m coming home today anyway. Planned to stay until Sunday, but it looks like … well, never mind.”
“Oh. Bad date? Or were you stood up?”
“I even lied to my mom and said I couldn’t make it to a family dinner tonight.” I winced. “So … I guess I’ll be open for drinks.”
“Fantastic. We both have a problem to drown in a pitcher of yeasty beer.” A little chuckle burst through the phone. “You know, this is the sort of thing I’d expect to hear from Quinton. Not you.”
“So you’re calling me a horny bastard whose every decision is led by his pant-banana?”
“Only literally. See you later, James.”
“I’ll text you after my family dinner, Dunc.”
When I hung up, I tossed my phone to the side, then put my fingers to my temples to massage an approaching headache into submission. I hadn’t eaten anything yet, but wasn’t so sure that I could if I tried. My stomach was tied in a knot, and my heart felt weighted with invisible stones.
What was I supposed to do with myself? The weekly forecast was droning in one ear, and the air conditioning was humming softly in the other. And between my ears, no matter how I tried to distract myself, all thoughts led to Lucky.
Or whatever his real name is.
My mother didn’t text back, which was common, as she sort of treated her phone like some alien relic that only needed to be tended to once a day, if that. Likely, she won’t be aware of my change in plans until I rang her doorbell. It wouldn’t matter much; my arrival was just a matter of an extra set of dishes and silverware on the table. Regardless of how many guests my mother had to cook for, she cooked enough for twenty.
After a glance at my watch, I jumped off the bed, clicked off the TV, and grabbed my bag. I only had minutes until noon, after which I’d be charged a late fee.
Of course, when I got to the front desk, it turned out to be not so easy as I thought.
“Cancellations must be made twenty-four hours in advance, sir,” explained the front desk clerk—a snooty stick of a bald man with a marshmallow white beard and tiny bifocals. It was the third time he repeated himself, and his tone never changed, like a robot.
My tone was about to change. “I’m here every other weekend. I am a loyal customer of yours.” Yep. I was turning into one of those guys. “Where’s the blonde clerk from last night? She knows me.”
“She worked the graveyard shift and left an hour ago.”
“Well, that’s too bad, because she would have helped me. She knows I’m a regular. You’re just …” I waved my hands unhelpfully at him, unable to produce the word for exactly what he was being.
“I’m so sorry,” he droned, sounding anything but. “It’s simply our policy. My hands are tied.”
“Like hell they’re tied,” I spat back. “Look. My plans changed. It’s before noon. If you have to charge me a cancellation fee, late fee, or whatever the hell, fine. Do that. But I shouldn’t have to pay for a room I’m not even going to be sleeping in tonight.”
“It’s 12:02 PM,” he recited.
I clenched shut my eyes. I was not going to lose my cool. “I … realize that it’s after noon now. However, when you and I began discussing my checking out, it was ten ‘til, and I had plenty of time to go through your cute little process, which really should’ve just consisted of me turning in my key and then fucking off.”
“Cancellations must be made twenty-four hours—”
“I HEARD YOU THE FIRST TIME, YOU TWAT!”
The man could not be any less fazed by my outburst. He had clearly had a chewing-out dozens of times in his time here at the Royal Flush. He didn’t even flinch. He just waited for me to make my next request, complaint, or outright demand.
I sighed, all the rage escaping with my breath. This isn’t his fault, I reminded myself. Lucky’s sudden departure isn’t his fault. No hotel would accommodate this request. Ever. He’s not the jerk. You are.
“If it would satisfy you,” he decided to say, after all the crap he just put both of us through, “I may be able to offer you a credit for a future stay, if I can get one of the managers out of the office to override my system. It will be valid for one night’s stay.”
The way he said the word “managers” told me everything. This marshmallow-bearded man was as lowly and disgruntled as I was on my worst day at the bank. He had to do the shit job of dealing with dickheads like me while his managers, half his age and twice his salary, sat in an office watching YouTube videos of cats playing badminton all day. We were kin, he and I.
“I’m …” I couldn’t bring myself to apologize. Instead, I plucked a mint from the dish on the counter. “I’m taking one of these.”
“They’re free,” he felt it necessary to state.
What a passive-aggressive little shit he was.
I felt someone’s presence behind me. I turned, figuring it was just the next person in line. I was even ready to warn them about what they were about to face, the words sitting on my tongue.
Until I realized I was staring at dice.
On a t-shirt.
My t-shirt.
The sight of him paralyzed me. A bolt of emotion chased its way through my body and struck hard somewhere in my gut.
“L-Lucky?” I finally managed to get out.
His face was hard as stone, but his eyes were bright. Was he nervous? Excited? Neither? I couldn’t tell.
He lifted a paper bag between our faces. “I got us breakfast,” he announced.
I couldn’t move. I might not have even been able to breathe. I genuinely think I was still trying to convince myself that this was actually happening and I wasn’t still asleep in my hotel room.
The desk clerk leaned forward, his eyes darting between the two of us, and asked, “Still going to be needing that credit, sir?”