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I just finished putting on my swim trunks. I get ready to go down to the hot tub to meet up with Paul, and hopefully, Jane, when I see Paul’s already back in the room. I just stepped out of the bathroom, and I can tell all hell has broken loose.
Paul does nothing but growl and yank at his hair. Pace. Whatever happened, he’s too much in his head to even see me, let alone hear me trying to ask him what the fuck happened.
Worse than Paul’s unresponsive mood, however, is the fact that Darla’s here. Standing in the room like a discarded chicken leg dressed in a swimsuit.
I ignore her for the time being and focus on Paul.
“Okay, Paul,” I say, “calm the fuck down. Tell me what happened. Why are you like this?”
Paul whirls on me. “Mariah’s pissed. She fucking hates me, Alex!” He jams an angry, murderous finger at Darla. “And all because this bitch decided to blindside and then corner me in the hot tub.”
Darla clicks her tongue irritably. “Excuse me. I wasn’t the one running away from a simple conversation, Paul.”
“Shut. Up,” Paul says this through a clenched jaw at her. As he does, I’m feeling what he feels: an irresistible urge to throw her out of this room — or worse — out the window. But that would be a crime, and she’s not worth the time.
But it might be, I think morbidly, I have no fucking idea how or if I will ever see Jane again after this. I didn’t ask for her phone number. And that’s usually the first thing I ask a girl when I flirt with her never mind fuck her.
More of Paul’s words erupt into the air, and thankfully or not, I’m not allowed to think any more about how royally I just fucked up my situation with Jane. And all because of that bitch, right there. Paul’s ex-girlfriend, whose mere presence has been threatening to bring our visit to Aspen down the whole goddamn time.
“Mariah saw Darla hanging on me and got the wrong idea,” he says, bringing my eyes back to him. “And, rather than let me explain that I want nothing to do with this hoe any longer and that I didn’t invite her into the hot tub, Mariah’s hightailed it out of here.” He drops his head down, looking like he’d rather have it cut off with a blunt razor. “As far as I know, she’s on her way home.”
Gone? My stomach seizes, followed by my heart. I don’t want to admit it, but now I’m feeling sick to my soul, not just pissed at the world.
“Oh, stop being so dramatic, Paul,” Darla says, pulling her robe around her more. “You don’t need to worry about her. You don’t even need to contemplate being with that fat cow anymore because I’ve decided I want you back. I want us to be together again.” Her brave mask crumbles, and I see tears in her eyes. “I want you back, baby,” she whimpers. “We were good together. So good together!” She sobs her fake sobs, sucks up her fake snot. “I see that now.” She comes closer to my brother, looking to snatch him up. Paul resists her, and this only makes her act out more. She cries and falls over as if my brother is the meanest, cruelest creature alive. “I need you, baby. No one is as good as you.”
Paul glowers down at her, and I feel an ember of pride despite my dark mood. “You had your chance,” he says like a judge sentencing her to death. “You fucked it up, Darla.”
Not just for my brother, but me, I think, getting ready to do something to her on my brother’s behalf.
“Or,” adds Jordan, as if the whole rest of the conversation didn’t happen, and he’s stuck back at the very beginning, “don’t let one bad thing ruin the rest of a good night.” He steps out of his hiding place, stuffing a handful of obnoxiously-strong taco-flavored chips in his mouth. “Mariah was just for a bit of fun, yo. The idea was not to get serious about her.”
“Unless he already has,” I murmur.
I stalk over to Darla, hauling her up on her feet. As I do, my mind wanders to Jane. Her beautiful, hourglass body compared to this skinny piece of garbage. I march Darla to the door, not caring when she trips over herself or complains at me for being too rough. She doesn’t know how rough I can be. “It’s time for you to go, Darla. Go be with your boyfriend, or whatever he is.” I open the door to our suite and shove her out.
Her only response is an overly-dramatic wail. “He’s just a tourist,” she says. “We’re not really going out. I just got with him to make Paul jealous.”
I slam the door in her face.
The scenario would have made me laugh, had my head not been swirling with regret. At how stupid I was not to ask Jane for her number. For her address. Her last name, even. Something to connect me back with her.
But I can’t mourn my stupidity now. Paul’s just as agonized as me. Maybe more, since it was his damn past that came back to bite us.
“Mariah’s the only one for me now.” I watch him wander to the window, hearing tears in his voice. Ones he tries to hide.
But I hear them anyway. I have tears of my own closing up my throat. I know what you mean. Jane’s one in 7 billion. I could travel the world, and never find another woman like her. And I just let her go. I just let her walk out of my life.
Pushing back my own disappointment, I put a tender hand on Paul’s shoulder. “Hey.”
He coughs. Sucks down a breath, trying to make it look and sound like he’s not developing a soft, squishy center. “What?”
“She’s the one, isn’t she?” I ask.
When he doesn’t answer immediately, I know I have my answer. She’s the one for Paul, just like Jane is for me. In the silence that ensues between us, I allow my mind to replay the night I spent with her. How irresistible she looked in her blindfold, and how much she enjoyed being teased and punished by me. My mind then wanders to the time in the café, where she openly flirted with me.
My mind wanders to most recently, in the dressing room. I’ve been with a lot of women. I’ve tried to get them to take risks, but Jane’s the only one I’ve ever spent any time with who seems “born” to take risks. To be with me, I realize, admitting the emptiness in my heart I’ve been trying to ignore since this shit went down. I don’t want anyone else. At first, I thought I was just getting with her for “relief” from my dry spell. But now I can’t imagine a life without her.
Just then, right when I’m about to succumb to the terror and freedom of that realization, Paul says what I’ve been waiting for him to say.
“Yeah,” he says. “She’s the one.”
Jordan gets up slowly from his perch on the edge of the couch, looking like Jesus has descended.
“She’s the one.” I watch my brother grab his clothes and stuff them into nearby plastic bags. “And I’m going to get her back, Alex.”
That’s all I need to hear. Heart pounding, I dash back into the bathroom as he adds, “I’m getting her back if it’s the last thing I do.”
“Wait a goddamn minute,” I shout, tossing on my clothes so fast I don’t even care when I get my shirt on backwards, or that I have my swim trunks on instead of the briefs. “Don’t go anywhere. I’m going with you, and then we’re going to get a rental car.” Socks and shoes sloppily put on and tied. I’ll get whatever else I need to get on the way. “I’m getting my girl back, too.”
Paul just nods stiffly before heading out the door ahead of me.
I hang back, turning to Jordan. “Check out of here on time for us tomorrow morning and take whatever we forget.”
Jordan just stuffs another handful of chips into his mouth. “I got your back, man. Go get the girl. Or girls.”
I hurry to the door, hoping Jordan doesn’t bust my balls about it for the next month, “Thanks, bro.” I open the door and slip myself out. “I’ll stop by your place to pick up the rest of my stuff sometime tomorrow.”
“Just get out of here would ya?” As I close the door on my best friend, I hear him add, “you’re making me sick, both of you. Assholes.”
***
From the resort, it’s a mad dash to a rental car place. Before I can even put my car in park, Paul’s out of the front seat and running toward the entrance. I don’t blame him. With it being Christmas, this is the only rental car place we can find that’s open and has anyone willing to serve us so late.
Alone in the car now, I think about Jane again. How only an idiot doesn’t say, “Hey, baby girl, what’s your number?”
I laugh at myself. So, I can fuck her silly on a swing, in a dressing room surrounded by people, but I can’t remember to ask her for her digits? How the hell am I going to find her? The only thing I know for sure is that she lives somewhere near Colorado Springs, and that’s because I stalked her Facebook page. I curl my fingers around the steering wheel, wishing I could turn back time. That, instead of asking her to meet me at the hot tub, I had asked her for her contact information just in case we got separated before we could meet again.
When I’m about to drive away, I think about driving myself to the nearest bar where I can drown my Christmas blues in more than just imported beer, a text pings on my phone.
From Paul.
“Alex,” it reads, “here’s Jane’s address. In the confusion, I guess I forgot she gave it to me along with Mariah’s.” Underneath these glorious words, I read my Christmas miracle. Jane’s full address. Under this, the text continues, “go get her, little brother. If you’re feeling anything like me, you know you can’t live without her. So, don’t.”
That’s all I need. I don’t bother to reply. I just click the address and input it into navigation.
I circle my way out of the parking lot and step on the gas, heading as fast I can to the freeway.
I smile, imagining how surprised Jane’s gonna be when I show up on her doorstep. She’ll probably rip me out of my clothes before I can get inside, I think. If I’m lucky.