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“Can I call you?”
I pause in the act of buttoning up my jeans to glance at the girl still pressed up against the wall. Her lips are swollen, her makeup smeared, her clothes disheveled. She’s got long blond hair and wide brown eyes. Big boobs and long legs sticking out from under her short, crumpled sundress. A pretty decent smile. And despite the fact that I just had my dick in her mouth, I can’t remember her name.
For a second, shame wells up. This isn’t me, a voice taunts from the back of my head. This whole careless, one-fuck stand thing isn’t who I am. I don’t treat women like this, never have. That was always more Z’s department.
Except—I watch as she puts her bra back into place, pulls the top up and the straps onto her shoulders—apparently I do now. Because I don’t know her name and I don’t want to. I don’t want her to call me and I sure as hell don’t want to call her.
I’ve got too much other shit to deal with right now. An anonymous fuck is about all I’ve got in me.
Still, I’m not such a douche that I say that to her. “Sure,” I tell her instead, running a careless hand through my hair as I rattle off my number. I glance around for my shoes before realizing that they’re still on my feet. I never even bothered to take them off.
“I gotta go, babe. Thanks for the—” I break off, gesturing to her red mouth and still shiny lips. “I’ll see you around.”
And then I’m gone, letting myself out of her hotel room and heading down the hallway. We’re on the top floor of the resort, but I don’t bother waiting for the elevator. It takes too long. Besides, these days, I’m not real good at inactivity. I like to keep going, keep moving. Makes it easy not to think. Kind of like anonymous fucking.
I take the five flights of stairs at close to a run, walking through the door of the employees’ lounge exactly two minutes and thirty seconds before my twenty-minute break is supposed to be up. That means I’ve got just enough time to—
“Hey, Ash. How’s it going?”
I turn at the sweet voice, see Ophelia standing next to me, her long, blond hair held back in a ponytail that’s already falling out. I smile cautiously. “Good, thanks. How are you?”
“Tired of smelling like coffee,” she says with an eye roll. “I swear, I need to get another job.”
I relax a little then, because she’s casual, normal. Not staring at me like her boyfriend, Z, does. She’s making conversation, not watching me like the rest of my friends. She’s not checking to see how I’m holding up. Not looking for cracks to exploit or signs that I’m falling apart.
“It could be worse. You could be stuck outfitting tourists with gear and teaching them how to climb.” That’s my job. It’s a far cry from shredding the pow with a dozen sponsors footing the bill, but these days, that’s exactly how I like it.
“Spoken like a man who hasn’t made one thousand, seven hundred and ninety-six lattes so far this week.”
“I’m a little terrified that you know the exact number.”
“Yeah, well, anal’s about a lot more than sex.”
I burst out laughing. I swear to God, I never know what’s going to come out of this girl’s mouth. No wonder Z’s so fucking crazy about her. “On the bright side, I’m sure I’ve fitted almost that many stinky feet for hiking boots this week.”
She pretends to gag. “Okay, you win.”
“Always do.”
Ophelia rolls her eyes again, starts out of the lounge. But then she turns, comes back, dives into me for a quick, hard hug. “You’re doing great,” she tells me. “Screw anybody who tells you differently.”
And then she’s gone, leaving me with stinging eyes and a hollow feeling in my chest. Fuck. The blow job upstairs was supposed to take care of this shit. If I’m not careful I’m going to turn into a total fucking pussy. One who can’t handle his shit. At all.
I grab a bottled water from the vending machine, then head down the hall to the rental shop. In the winter, it’s all about helping tourists get their snow gear—boots, skis, snowboards, helmets. I’m definitely not planning on being here for that. But in the summer, it’s not so bad. I rent out hiking boots, oars for the canoes, outdoor games and a bunch of other sun stuff. I also teach mountain climbing and run day hikes sometimes.
It’s not a great job, but it’s good enough. It keeps me outside a lot of the time, keeps me moving and busy. And most importantly, Alex, my manager, is pretty flexible about my schedule. Between all of Logan’s doctors’ appointments and his daily physical therapy, it’d be impossible to stick to something rigid.
My phone rings just as I duck behind the counter of the shop. Employee rules are we can’t take calls while on the floor, but when I glance down, I realize the call is from Logan’s home health care aide. I don’t have a choice. I glance at Mandy, the girl who’s been working the counter with me all morning. She’s finishing off her shift—as soon as I get back from break, she gets to go home. But I have to take this.
She can see it in my face, and though she rolls her eyes a little, she motions for me to take the call. I mouth a quick thank-you, then dart back out to the hallway to answer.
“Yeah? Is everything okay, Sarah?” Even as I ask the question, my blood is turning to ice in my veins. She never calls me unless there’s a problem, so even as I ask, I know something’s not right.
“Everything’s fine,” she tells me in her soothing voice. Of course, that’s another clue that it isn’t—she only uses that tone when she’s getting ready to break the bad news.
“Where’s Logan?”
“He’s in the car, with me. He’s fine, but we had a little accident and I’m taking him in to Urgent Care to have him looked at.”
