There was Ashley Player, Summer Sorensen, and Matt Brohmer, who’d also officially joined the lineup yesterday.
It was a pretty fucking sweet lineup, and I was glad to be a part of it. For sure.
Life was fucking great, right?
I was supposed to be happy, probably. Celebrating my new band situation, and celebrating Brody’s wedding.
And Iwascelebrating, more or less.
But my head was only halfway in the game.
Because as usual, I was fucking preoccupied.
With Courteney.
She’d texted me last night to ask if I was mad at her. I told her no.
I wasn’t mad.
I was fucking mental.
Trying to keep away from her, and at the same time hoping like hell that when I broke down and saw her again, she’d come on to me again or something. Just anything at all to give me the excuse to fuck her.
Because I so wanted to fuck her.
I just knew I shouldn’t.
So I was really, really trying not to.
Sometime around one a.m., I broke down and checked my phone. I’d turned it off for the wedding ceremony and never bothered turning it back on. And I knew why.
I feared the temptation that would be there, waiting for me, as soon as I looked.
And I feared that if it wasn’t there… I’d fucking flip out.
But when I turned it on, there it was. A Snapchat notification, with her name on it.
She’d sent me a pic.
I didn’t open it, at first.
I already knew I’d fucked up—one of the worst ways a man could fuck up, short of committing some major felony. But since then, I’d been avoiding her as best I could.
Really, I had.
But what the hell. She’d sent me a photo.
And I really wasn’t that strong a man.
I opened it.
It was a pic of her tits. Those big, plump, bouncy tits of hers, spilling out of her lacy little baby-pink bra. And one sentence.
Courteney:I need you right now.
I read it again and again, fucking relishing those words out of her sweet head.
I was going to hell.
