The woman in bed next to me had long legs, creamy skin, a tumble of blonde hair, and no clothes. The blue-silk bedsheet had wrapped around her body, and she slept on her side, curled against me. I didn’t know her name.
Lately, I didn’t know a lot of their names.
Not that it mattered. These days, the women who kept me company had one purpose, and one purpose only. We fucked. They came. The next morning, they left. Repeat.
One night only. Never more.
Sex was one way to pass the time in Palm Beach, one way to make the loneliness that washed over me at night fade away with the ocean waves. For the last few months—no, make that years—I’d torn through the town’s charity circuit and endless line of winter parties looking for something. Something to take away the pain. Something to soothe the blisters on my broken heart. And something to make me feel again.
One thing remained certain—I hadn’t found it. Maybe I never would.
I stared at the woman in my bed. She was pretty in the usual ways, but she also had a tangerine tan, and the light streaming into the bedroom from my window didn’t do her face any favors. Just like most Palm Beach socialites, she thought nothing of a visit to the Botox fairy, and it showed in the manmade tightness of her face. When the alarm on my iPhone buzzed, I nudged her until she opened her eyes.
What a relief. She’ll be leaving soon.
“Good morning.” I punched the dismiss button to silence the incessant sound on the device.
She yawned, and I noticed the trace of dark lipstick that still rimmed her mouth. It complemented the mascara smudges beneath her eyes and the shininess on her nose. She wasn’t as pretty in the morning as she had been in the moonlight. “Good morning to you, too. What time is it?”
“Seven forty-five.”
“Early.”
“Sort of.”
This woman had a European accent I couldn’t quite place…Slovenian? Estonian? Hungarian? I flipped through my hazy memories of the previous night. It started out with a steak dinner at Meat Market, then a meeting with friends from Manhattan for late-night drinks at HMF, the bar inside The Breakers Resort. By then, I’d been too drunk to drive, so I’d taken a taxi home.
Had I met her at HMF? At Meat Market? Had she been with me in the car?
She propped herself on one elbow. “Last night was amazing.” Each word she spoke had a crisp, clipped cadence.
“It…it was.”
There, that sounds good.
I got out of bed. My boxers lay on the floor along with my black trousers and gray, button-down shirt. I slipped on the shorts and padded to the three-quarter bathroom located just off the master bedroom. “I’m glad you had a good time.” I turned on the faucet and splashed cool water on my face. How many times had I slept with this woman?
Damn it.
I needed to tone down the tequila, and probably alcohol in general. Always made the next morning too fuzzy. I knew better than to let my drinking get out of control. Lately, though, I’d been ignoring my own better judgment.
That had to stop, too.
Her hand slipped around my stomach and traveled up my chest. “So? What do you think about meeting up later tonight?”
I grabbed her fingers and turned around. “Not tonight. I’ve got plans.”
Her face fell, and it occurred to me once again that I didn’t care if I disappointed her. She needed to leave, and soon.
“You promised we’d have dinner tonight.”
“I did?”
“Right before you made me come three times.”
“Three?”
Impressive, even for me.
She nodded. “And you said there would be more where that came from.”
I moved away from the sink and back into the bedroom. “Listen, I’m sorry, but last night I said a lot of things I didn’t mean.” I picked up her black dress, which lay on the floor near my discarded loafers. “We had a good time. Let’s leave it at that.”
“You’re kidding.”
I didn’t reply. Instead, I shot her what I hoped was a bland, no-I’m-not-kidding look.
“My girlfriends told me you were like this.”
“Like what?”
“Cold, closed off. No one gets near you.” Sighing, she snatched her dress from my hand. “I should have listened to them.” She wrapped the stretchy fabric around her body, found her underwear on the floor, and threw it in her straw purse.
“I don’t do…relationships,” I explained, probably more begrudgingly than I should have let on. The word “relationship” tasted metallic and foreign in my mouth. “Not anymore. Haven’t for a while.”
I didn’t usually offer this kind of explanation, but something about the weariness in her voice made me open a little. Yes, I had a reputation. I knew it. Owned it.
“Everyone in Palm Beach knows what you’re like, Luke.”
“Then you know that I don’t do commitment. It’s just not my thing.”
“Someday, it will be.” She eyed me. “Because you can’t keep living this way. No one can. Don’t you think that Faye—”
“I think your shoes are downstairs. And I have a meeting at nine.”
Wrong. I had a 9:00 AM tee time at the Everglades Club. Not a meeting. But last night’s flavor didn’t need to know that, and she didn’t need to pry into my personal life, either. She stared at me for a moment, and I wondered if she wanted me to flinch, or to change my mind.
“Fine,” she finally said. “I’ll go.”
Less than ten minutes later, she disappeared in a cloud of perfume, disappointment, and confusion. They always did.