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I looked down at my glass, trying to figure out how to resolve everything with Summer like I had with the other ink-women. Maybe the issue was me; maybeIwas the one having trouble letting go.
The party guests filtered through the patio, each one a carbon copy of the last. All these faces looked the same; all the conversations were the same. Just a bunch of rich people trying to one-up each other.
“Man, this is the most pretentious bullshit I’ve ever seen,” muttered a low voice nearby.
I looked over and saw a slim man leaning against the bar, his fingers wrapped around a drink identical to mine. His eyes were icy; bored.
Smart.
Discerning.
He lifted his glass and gestured to me. “That’s what you’re thinking.”
“Hardly,” I lied. “I’m here to network, just like everyone else.”
“Hah.Networking.Fakest shit of all time. Why do we all have to pretend this isn’t what it really is? If it looks like a duck and talks like a duck it’s a fuck fest.”
“What?”
He smirked mischievously. “NowI’ve got your attention. Look, I don’t know how many of these things you’ve been to, but it’s always the same. These bowling pins are all pretending this party isn’t just a pony show; an excuse for the girls to show their bulging tits and the guys to show their bulging wallets. By the end of the night, he’ll be fucking her—” he gestured to an older guy eyeing a modelesque woman in a gold dress from across the room— “that guy’ll be fucking Jessica Rabbit over there, and the Monopoly man over by the pool? He’ll have her, her, and her in his bed,” he pointed out several gorgeous women.
The more this stranger talked, the more I couldn’t decide if I liked or hated him.
“I’m Sam, by the way,” he said, extending his hand. “And this is how I entertain myself during these things so I don’t blow my brains out.”
“Bo,” I said. “And that’s not funny.”
He cocked his head back and laughed. “Everything’s funny!”
Despite wanting to hate him, I couldn’t deny that his laugh was genuine. Hell, it was the only genuine thing about this place.
“Bo. What’s that short for? Beauregard? Borat? Bopeep?”
“Fuck you.” I took a sip.
He chuckled. “…Bowtie?”
“Close. Bowie,” I said, feeling my full name escape my lips and hurl itself into the conversation like a rabid animal.
“Bowie! That’s unusual. But you strike me as an unusual dude, so I guess it makes sense.”
“Nah, I’m as normal as they come. My parents though… were… interesting.”
“Well halle-fucking-lujah Bo, Ilivefor interesting. Now, back to this game.”
He surveyed the crowd, then snapped his attention back to me. Then his gaze went to the crowd again.
Slowly it dawned on me what he was doing: he was trying to guess whoI’dend up with tonight.
If I strained my ears, I could hear him murmuring “No, no, no, no, no, Bo, (heh,) no, no, no…”
“I’m not interested in anyone here,” I said quickly. “I’m here for business. Aren’t you?”
“Nah. I only ever do anything for pleasure.” Sam smiled and I noticed a glint of silver in his mouth.
Was that a pierced tongue?
“That being said, I have the misfortune of being fortunate in what I do for a living, so I’m obligated to talk about it from time to time. But not here, not at events like this when there’s people watching to do! So much moreinteresting,don’t you think?”
