Plus One

 

 

Mary-Ann was a woman of her word, and I was freshly fucked after seven minutes in hell. Although, she lied. Her whiskey was not top shelf. It was watered down, flat booze. There was no epiphany, no light at the end of the tunnel, and no weight lifted from my loins. After she power-bunnied on my lap and left without a goodbye, I was once again cloaked in that blanket of disgrace, one which seems to rain on my fun parade every chance it gets.

I was a complete two-pump chump because the moment I thought of Lamb in all of her glory, I came so hard I went blind for a few splendid seconds. Mary-Ann popped her cork straight after, as she was primed and ready to go way before she shoved me into the stairwell and climbed me like a sex-starved monkey.

As I thrust my hands into my pocket, the slip of paper with her number on it sears my fingers. I shiver when remembering her hot dog lips attempting to latch onto my face and suck the air from my lungs. Regardless of how many women I fuck, I hold onto some small scrap of dignity and will never, ever break my no kissing rule.

It sounds completely ridiculous, considering I have no misgivings when it comes to the women I sleep with, but kissing, it’s just so…personal. The moment their lips veer within three feet, I hammer on the brakes, finish the job, and then hit the road.

Fishing the number from my pocket, I slam dunk it into the trash can just outside the bar, which holds so many memories. Taking a moment, I stand in front of the small neon sign and remember the countless hours spent inside. She may not be the prettiest of the bunch, or even the biggest, but this place will always be home…and cue the violins.

I know without looking Dixon is inside because that sappy part of me, D2, which was named after the man in question, always seems to emerge whenever he’s near. His pussiness has obviously rubbed off on me.

Pulling back my shoulders, I run a hand through my hair, as I know he’ll be able to sniff the depravity off of me. When I enter, “Witchy Woman” by The Eagles plays over the speakers, just another nail in the proverbial coffin. Arm raised high, I flip off the ceiling, eyes focused on Dixon, who sits in a booth, not at all surprised by my insane behavior.

When I get closer, I stop dead in my tracks, unable to tear my gaze from Dixon’s groin. “What the fuck is that?” I cry, horrified, pointing to the sex killers he’s currently donning.

He rolls his eyes and sips his brown colored drink, which better have some kind of alcohol in it. “They’re called pants, not that you’d know, seeing as you’ve spent more time out of them, than in,” he smugly replies, while I shake my head and wag my finger.

“Those are sweat pants. Since when do you wear sweat pants?”

“Hey, don’t knock the pants.” He slaps my finger away. “They’re incredibly comfortable and I’m in free balling heaven.” He points to the seat across from him. “Sit.”

“Whatever, Grandpa, and only because you asked so nicely,” I quip, reaching across the table to steal his drink. I toss it back, only to spit it back out seconds later. Wiping my mouth, I cringe. “Where’s the scotch?”

Dixon smirks, turning over his shoulder to grab the attention of Tanya, the bar maid who’s been serving us for years. She’s wiping down table nine, but he doesn’t have to bother because she’s had her eyes glued to him since I entered. She’s over by our booth in record time. “Hi boys,” she purrs, batting her eyelashes at Dixon, while I suddenly feel like chopped liver.

“Hello,” he replies, completely shooting her down. “I’ll have a scotch, and Hunt? Whiskey?” I blanch the moment he looks at me, waiting for corroboration. I’ll never be able to stomach that drink without thinking of my walk of shame.

“Budweiser for me,” I amend, while Dix raises an eyebrow, seeing through my façade. Nothing slips past him.

“Sure,” Tanya replies, her attention riveted on Dixon. “I haven’t seen you in here for ages. I thought you were cheating on me.” Her attempts to flirt with Dix go up in a flaming pile of dog shit. I sit back and yawn, accustomed to what the next thirty seconds entails.

“I’ve been busy with work, teaching, and I’m getting hitched in three months, so, no rest for the wicked.” Her mouth falls open and I almost feel sorry for her. She hasn’t heard.

I’m pretty sure when word spread that Dixon Mathews was no longer a bachelor, all of the women in NYC went into mourning. Some may even have joined the nunnery. With those baby blues and a reputation that proceeded him, he broke the hearts of every woman who wanted to domesticate him, who wanted to lay claim to the title of taming Manhattan’s most notorious man-slut.

They couldn’t understand what Maddy had that they didn’t, but that’s the reason why she lured ol’ Dix in. She never wanted to tame or own Dixon. She wanted him, flaws and all, and he had many flaws, like screwing her diabolical sister. But in the end, she saw past all of that because that’s what people who are into one another do. Or, so I’ve heard.

“Oh.” She clears her throat. “Well, congratulations. I’ll be right back with your drinks.” She hightails it toward the bar, yanking on the arm of Sara, her colleague, and whispers into her ear. I can see the exact moment her heart shatters into smithereens.

Dixon is either oblivious, or he just doesn’t care. “What’s the damage?”

He doesn’t need to explain. “Why, jealous?”

He smirks and leans back casually. “Jealous of what? Catching chlamydia?”

A laugh erupts from me. “Touché, fuckwad. I need something to occupy my time now that you’ve gone and fallen in lo…” I pause the moment that infernal word is about to slip past my lips. I don’t know why, I just can’t say it without wanting to check my balls are still intact.

“Love?” Dix fills in the blanks while I groan.

“Ugh, enough with this heartfelt crap. I can feel my testosterone levels diminishing as we speak. How’s Cherry Pie?” I wiggle my eyebrows, because even though she’s a complete fox, I don’t look at her like I do other women. If I had a sister, then that’s how I view Maddy. But Dix doesn’t have to know that because I love seeing him riled up.

“She’s fine,” he replies blankly.

“Oh, I know she’s fine, but how’s she doing?”

This derailment is supposed to get Dix off my case, but he stands his ground. The stubborn motherfucker. “How many women this week, Hunt?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I counter quickly, attempting to throw him off the trail.

“You do realize you gave me the exact same speech, in this bar, a lifetime ago?”

I humor him because I know he won’t let go otherwise. “What speech, oh wise one?”

He doesn’t see the funny side, however. “The ‘you look like shit we’re worried about you,’ speech.”

“I appreciate your helicopter parenting, Dix, but there is no need. Really. I’m fine. Everything is great. Life couldn’t be better.” I sit taller, wondering where the hell my drink is.

“You can’t keep screwing around, man.”

“Watch me,” I challenge, suddenly getting pissed. “I’m stoked you’ve got your shit together, but your holier-than-thou speech can blow me. Don’t be a fucking hypocrite ’cause no one likes a know it all.”

It’s meant to be a warning to tell him to back off, but it seems to have done the complete opposite. “I understand I’m the last person to be giving you this advice, but I’m only doing so because I care about you, you asshole. You obviously like Mary”—when I scoff and fold my arms, Dixon lays off with the Mary talk—“but I think the bigger issue here is you.”

“Excuse me?” I question, lost in translation. “Me? There is nothing wrong with me.”

“Why are you sleeping with anything that moves?”

“Because I can.”

“I get that, but why the sudden step up to whoredom?”

Where the fuck is Tanya with my drink? Wiping a hand down my face, I suddenly smell Mary-Ann’s rancid perfume on my fingers, fingers that were playing her like a fiddle twenty minutes ago. “I didn’t realize my sex life was so interesting to you, Dix.”

“Just answer the question,” he states, his resolute gaze never wavering.

“Why not? I’m single and I like sex. I don’t see why there has to be a better reason. Now that you’re off the scene, I have a smorgasbord of women to choose from.” Which is true. The men of today are little boys who like to play grown up.

Dixon weighs up my answer before slipping on his glasses. I can see the reason why women love this bastard. He’s one handsome son of a gun. “How’s the sex?”

I can’t help but smile. “Dirty Dix. But I suppose I could share the details, considering you’ve been dining on the one flavor for so long.”

“That’s by choice,” he rebukes, shaking his head. “I want to know how you feel after you’ve had sex with these random women. Let’s use tonight’s proceedings as an example.”

I knew he’d smell the pussy on me. “Five pounds lighter.” Peering around, I wonder if it’s getting hot in here. “I feel fucking fantastic. I’ve gotten blown and fucked until I can’t see straight, what is there to complain about?”

“So, you’re having no problems…” He leaves the sentence hanging, using his hand as a gesturing tool to move his point along, but I have no idea what he’s talking about.

“No problems what?” I finally ask. He shrugs his shoulders like I’m supposed to understand what the fuck this tangent means.

“No problems…. ejaculating.”

My eyes pop open and I burst into laughter. “Did you seriously ask me if I can drop a load okay? I don’t need Viagra, if that’s what you’re implying. And ejaculate…? When did this turn so business like…” I pause, the wheels in my head churning over the past five minutes.

It takes me a second, but when I come to, I recoil backward and cover my chest, violated. “Oh my fucking god. Holy donkey’s balls! You’re psychoanalyzing me, aren’t you?” He doesn’t need to respond. “Quit it with your psychobabble bullshit, and stay the fuck out of my head. Are you trying to hypnotize me or something?” I peer at him suspiciously, grabbing my dick to make sure he hasn’t compelled me into hating the big fella.

Dixon rubs the bridge of his nose, his plan foiled. No wonder he put on his glasses. That sneaky cockface. Leaning forward, I poke my finger into his chest. “I don’t need your help. I’m fine. Everything is A-fucking-okay, so fuck you. Fuck you very much.”

He slaps my hand away. “I understand, but if you ever did…”

“Pssh, stop that.” I wave, gesturing this conversation is done. “I don’t want you near my head. Ever.”

“Well, I don’t particularly want to be in it,” he opposes, his jaw firm. “But I know you, man. I know what you’re doing.”

“Having the best time of my life? Living it up and choosing what flavor I feel like? Blonde? Brunette? Red…” I actually choke on the word and have to thump on my chest to dislodge it.

Dixon sighs because I’m a fucking lace bra—see-through. “No pussy holds some miracle cure. That remedy is within you. You just have to know where to look. You once told me your whoring tendencies were a cry for help.”

I scoff. “Please. I’ll be doing just that if we don’t stop with this D and M soon. And besides, I never said that. You’re probably getting me mixed up with Finch. He’s the pussy in this relationship.” But Dixon is right. I did say that to him. It was the night we met the twins, Mandy and Marisa.

Dix bowed out, while I thought I was on top of the world. That was before Mary, and before I became D2. Life was so simple back then, now it’s just one giant episode of Days of Our Lives.

“Dude, just know I’m here for you, because you did the same for me. You’re my brother. And besides, when the going got tough, the tough allowed some silver-haired fox named Pearl to live out her fantasy of seducing a younger man. I’ll never forget you taking one for the team.”

“We agreed to not speak of that ever again.” I shiver when remembering the incident he speaks of. It was on the way to rescuing Maddy from what we thought was the biggest mistake of her life. Turns out we were wrong, but hey, in the end, the good guy won and the hero of this story can live happily ever after.

Tanya saunters over with drinks in hand. She barely looks at Dixon as she slides his scotch toward him, while I get the whole hog as she practically serves me my beer between her tits. “Here you go, Hunter.”

“Thanks, sweet cheeks.” I reach for the Budweiser, which she holds close to her sizeable chest, ensuring I don’t cop a feel in the process. I make a rule that I don’t shit where I eat, as I have zero interest in Tanya, so fucking her, or leading her on will just end in her spitting in my drink and forcing me to find a new place to hang out.

Dixon smirks, knowing me all too well. I may be a bastard, but I’m not a fucking bastard. Once Tanya gets the hint, she trudges off, probably wondering if Dixon is marrying me, because I’ve obviously renounced my manhood by playing off her advances.

“So, there’s this thing tomorrow night.”

I pause mid-sip, cocking a brow. “What thing? Jesus Christ, for someone who rivals the IQ of Stephen Hawking, you sure as shit act like an invasive dumbass most times.”

Dixon grins, while I gesture for him to continue. “A dinner at Madison’s parents’ house.”

“That’s a lovely story, but why are you telling me this?”

“Because you’re invited, you Neanderthal,” he replies, reaching for his scotch.

I can’t contain my excitement and fist pimp. “Fucking yes! About time I was invited to these soirees.” But I reel in my enthusiasm. Something is rotten in Denmark. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? What if I’ve got plans?”

“I’m sure you can lay off the hunt for one night,” he counters, knowing all too well what a standard Saturday night for me entails.

But I’m not buying it. Pointing my bottle his way, I bark, “Stick to your day job, Dix, cause your poker face blows ass. Spit it out.”

He sighs, running a hand through his mussed hair. “Well, Madison’s parents thought it would be nice for everyone to get together and talk…wedding stuff.”

My ears prick up, while my inner caveman beats his chest and howls to the full moon. “Wedding stuff. So, Mary will be there?” I ask, leaning forward, my smirk resembling the Joker’s.

“Yes. Finch and Heidi, too.”

Tapping my fingers against the edge of the table, I wonder why he wouldn’t tell me this sooner. “You’re ashamed of me, aren’t you?” I half tease.

Dixon shakes his head. “No, man, as much as you’re an obnoxious asshole, you’re my obnoxious asshole. I held off telling you because I didn’t know how you’d…feel”

“Feel? And there’s that word again. You need to stop talking in riddles and just grow a pair. What the fuck is going on?”

Something shifts and I can see Dixon wrestling with the truth. He doesn’t want to tell me something because he thinks it’ll hurt my feelings. D2 licks his wounds, while I tell that pansy ass to take a backseat. “Man, you could grow a vagina between Finch and you. Your significant others have bigger cojones than you two. What’s the deal?”

“We didn’t know if you’d want to attend because…”

“Because what?” I coax, fed up with this beating around the bush.

“Because Mary has a plus one, and she’s bringing him. I didn’t know if that’d make you feel weird or not.”

“A plus one? Like as in a boyfriend plus one?” I ask, my brain short-circuiting. Dixon nods, while I suddenly have the urge to slam my fist into the table. “When did this happen?”

“Just recently. She’s seeing some guy she works with.”

“What’s his name?” I ask, fist clenched to my thigh. This is so insignificant in the greater scheme of things, but I need to know my opponent’s name so I can holler it in delight when I neuter him.

“His name?” Dixon questions, confused.

“Yes.” It takes all my willpower not to turn into the Marshmallow Man and destroy New York, seeking out this cockface who is Mary’s plus one.

“I really don’t know. It doesn’t matter, dude. Just come, have a good time. Maddy’s dad is a mean cook.”

But food is the last thing on my mind because all I want to roast is Mary’s little boyfriend’s nuts. “Why did you tell me to tell Lamb how I feel if she’s seeing this asshat?” I bite, confused.

“Because I doubt it’s serious,” he explains, which makes perfect sense, but the rational side of me is suddenly in hiatus.

“Of course it’s not serious. She’s been seeing him for five seconds.” But regardless, she’s chosen someone else to take to this dinner. She’s chosen someone else to call her plus one.

Some small, pansy part of me had hoped Mary was playing hard to get, and after she made me work hard for it, she’d finally put me out of my misery and meet me halfway. But it seems she’s a sadistic witch who likes to see me grovel. Well, fuck that. Hunter O’Shea does not beg or grovel for anyone.

“Whatever, man, it’s cool. Good luck to her, and good luck to him. I’ll send him a condolence card in the mail.” I pull back my shoulders, refusing to let this dampen the mood.

I’m happy for Dix and Maddy, and tomorrow, I’ll fucking eat cake and smile. I won’t give in to the impulse to rip off this jerk-off’s arms and beat him like a piñata at a ten-year old’s birthday. If she wants to play, then so can I.

“Seeing as everyone seems to be bringing their nearest and dearest, you wouldn’t mind if I brought someone along?”

“Who?” Dix questions. He has every right to be suspicious, but I can’t stomach being the only lame ass with no plus one.

“You don’t know her.”

“Do you?” he poses quickly, his doctor mask slipping into full swing.

I’ve had enough of being dissected under the microscope for one night. Standing, I finish my beer and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “I’m asking to be polite, but even if you said no, screw you.”

Dix raises his hands in surrender. “Fine, bring her. But Hunt…” I wait for him to continue. “No hookers.” He knows me oh so well.

I fake horror. “I should be offended, but I’m not. Sayonara. Text me the details.” Hunting through my jacket, I pull out my wallet, but Dixon waves me off.

“My shout. Next one is on you.” I know there is a double meaning behind his words—that smart, hypnotizing warlock. I don’t bother with long goodbyes because I have work to do. I need to find a date.

The chilly March breeze has me pulling the lapels of my blazer across my chest, wondering if I should hail a cab, or walk the ten blocks to my apartment on the upper east side. While in thought, a destitute man bumps into me, apologizing profusely. His garbage bag filled with cans drops with a racket to the pavement.

Without a second thought, I drop to a squat and help him collect his loot. Whether it’s Divine intervention, or the work of the devil, I’ll never know, but when the paper I heedlessly threw in the trash is stuck to the side of a Pepsi can, I know this is a sign.

The man notices me staring at the number, and kindly peels the paper from the metal. “Here, sir.”

I accept with a smile. “Thank you.” We both stand while I pass the man the last of his cans.

I have no idea what possess me, but I decide to confide in this stranger because most times, strangers don’t spare your feelings because they don’t have to. “This number, it was given to me by a lady I fucked after knowing for roughly thirty seconds. My best friend, that handsome devil in there…” I point to Dix, who is on the phone, no doubt detailing to Maddy what a fucking disaster tonight was. The man nods when he looks at Dixon, appreciating his charisma. “He’s getting married to the love of his life, and tomorrow, he’s asked I attend a dinner. That all sounds like an episode of The Brady Bunch, right? But the problem is his fiancée has a best friend who drives me crazy, and I mean that in every literal sense of the word.”

I exhale loudly, wishing this underlying need to see her would hit the high road and fuck right off. “She’s bringing a plus one. Some jerk-off who wouldn’t know how to handle her even if he had eight hands. I want her, and I thought that maybe she wanted me too. But now it appears she’s moved on to greener pastures, so maybe it’s my turn to do the same.”

The man nods quietly, allowing me to purge.

“So, my question is, do I move on too, even though I don’t want to? Or do I fight for her? Listen to what Dixon said and tell her how I fe…feel? I’ve fucked seven or eight women this week—I’ve lost count—and as much as I hate to admit it, Dix is right. I’m kind of lonely and maybe this is a cry for help.”

Gazing down at the soiled number in my hand, I wonder if perhaps my problem is that I’m not giving other women a chance because I’m hung up on the unattainable. I’ve put Mary on a pedestal because that’s her rightful place. Let’s face facts. She belongs with someone nice, a good guy who will call her beautiful and not follow with the words ass or tits. I can’t give her that because I’m not the Prince Charming type.

I tried to fool myself into thinking that she’ll see something that no other woman has before, but there isn’t anything there to see. All my cards are laid on the table, and it appears no one likes my playing hand. Mary isn’t different because I’m no different. I’m no one special and I was living in a Walt Disney world if I thought otherwise.

“Good talk. You’re a real good listener,” I say, lightly slapping the man on the arm.

“So, what have you decided?” he asks, appearing genuinely curious. As Dix stands, I know it’s time to hit the road.

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my wallet and offer the man a Benjamin. He waves it off, but I press it into his palm. “Take it, you’re cheap compared to how much that fucker would charge me.” I gesture with my chin to Dixon. “And what I’ve decided is that this bachelor is back in the game.”

I leave my new favorite shrink standing on the sidewalk, confused, while for me, the Mary haze has finally lifted. I was blinded by the fantasy of living my own, real life fairy tale because it appears that the world no longer needs heroes…it needs monsters for the good guys to slay.