“You’re in a pissy mood,” Mitch grumbles, draining his beer as he eyes the room with a trained hunter’s lens.
He’s not wrong. I’ve been in a pissy mood since I left Ramshackle after discovering Presley wasn’t working. It’s not like Mattapan is convenient, and I wasted hours of precious party time waiting for a girl who won’t give me the time of day. I swallow the rest of my beer, gesturing at Mitch to grab us a couple more before all the bottles disappear.
He flips me the bird, cussing me out under his breath, but he still gets up, like a good little minion. When he returns, I snatch the beer from his hand, swallowing a few greedy mouthfuls as I watch the curvy redhead approaching.
“Hey, baby.” She drops onto my lap uninvited, and it annoys the fuck out of me. I shove her away, and she falls to the floor, protesting loudly.
“Did I say you could sit on me?” I glare at her. “Do I look like a fucking chair to you?”
“You had no issue with it last time.” She returns my glare, climbing to her feet.
I wrack my brain for any recollection of this chick, but I’ve got nothing. She stomps her feet and purses her lips, and it might be comical if I wasn’t in such a shitty mood. “You don’t even remember me, do you?”
“Come here, baby.” Mitch pats his thigh. “You can sit on me anytime.”
She gives me the evil eye as she plonks down on Mitch’s lap. “Well?” She stares at me, waiting for an answer.
“Nope. Did we fuck?”
“You’re an asshole.”
I roll my eyes, thinking about getting it stamped on my forehead—for the one percent of the population who isn’t in the know.
“It mustn’t have been very memorable,” I add because I’m a complete jerk when I’m pissed and Presley has me tied up in knots.
Tears well in her eyes, and if I had a heart, I might just feel bad about that. Instead, I drain the rest of my beer and stand. “I’m out of here.”
Mitch wraps his arms around the redhead, and I’m betting he’ll kiss her boo-boos better. I don’t bother saying goodbye to Topher or Lance, wherever the fuck they are, calling an Uber and heading outside.
Silence greets me when I return to my apartment, and for once, I don’t mind it. I grab a beer from the fridge and settle on the couch in the living room, kicking off my shoes. Lying back, I stare up at the ceiling, restless anxiety pricking at my skin.
I can’t remember the last time I was home before midnight on a Friday night, relatively sober with no illegal substances humming in my veins.
I can’t decide if I like it or not.
This is all Presley’s fault.
Since I met her last weekend, I can’t get her out of my head, and I don’t do this.
I get drunk, get high, fuck random girls, rinse, and repeat.
Thatis what I’m good at. Not pining after girls who think I’m a worthless piece of shit. This is all new, and it feels like I’m an imposter in my own skin.
I consider calling Keanu, but I think better of it. If he knows there’sa girl, he’ll jump all over that shit, and he’ll be planning double dates before I know what’s hit me. An idea comes to me, and I sit up, dialing my brother Keven’s number before I talk myself out of it.
“This better be good,” he grunts when he eventually picks up.
“Forget it,” I snap, my finger hovering over the end button.
“Don’t hang up! Just give me a minute,” he pleads. I hear the rustling of sheets and a soft feminine voice. Shit. I think I just interrupted him and Cheryl mid-banging.
“Kent. You still there?” Kev asks a few seconds later.
“I’m here.”
I hear a door closing.
“Are you okay? Do you need me to come get you?”
