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Farrow:
Well, gotta go have a sword fight with the guy I’m masturbating to on the reg.
Farrow:
Talk later.
Ari:
Way to make me feel like a loser.
Ari:
The highlight of my day was getting my nails done.
Ari:
P.S. When was the last time you got laid? Maybe trade in the sword for his, ya know, sword.
He stood me up.
The telltale signs of disappointment looped around my ankles and tugged.
It was stupid. I had no reason to be upset. After all, I’d get my paycheck for this training session either way.
Now I had a rare ninety minutes of free time to do with as I pleased.
And still, almost ten minutes had passed since the appointment time, yet I hovered by our piste, wrapped up in full fencing gear, my helmet clutched in my fist as I surveyed the gym.
Did I keep waiting?
Only if you’re an idiot.
Hmm… debatable these days.
With a huff, I plopped down on the piste, my elbows digging into my knees.
Another ten minutes passed.
Then fifteen.
After twenty, I called it quits.
He wasn’t going to come.
Screw this.
I hopped up, swung my weapons carrier over my shoulder, and strode out the gym. Fencers around me battled in full force.
The humming air conditioners and clinking swords assaulted my ears. Envy licked at my chest, something dark blooming within.
Anger.
He could have texted me.
Heshouldhave texted me.
I could be home. In bed. Perhaps sleeping a full four hours for the first time in two years.
