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It’s massively fucking with my head.
I’m not the type of man to dwell on things too much. And although I’ve spent the day in Morgan hell, I manage to get over it by distracting myself with a Lakers game.
Lex kindly offers to take me, and with his courtside seats, how can I say no. Throughout the game, I think about Benny and Tom. How much I miss being around them, and even though Lex is great to hang out with, the boys know exactly how to have fun. The perks of not being in a relationship—we did whatever, whenever.
As I lay in bed, my conscience gets the better of me. I send Benny a text again apologizing for what I’d done and that I had moved to LA. The stupid fella still has his read receipts on—something Tom would continuously nag him to switch off because then the women he was trying to avoid would know he read their messages.
He obviously reads mine, doesn’t respond, and that’s the end of that.
Every time I shut my eyes, my mind does this crazy thing, racing through different memories and different people, reminding me that life has become complicated, and somehow, I feel out of place in this world and in my own skin. I don’t think in my entire life have I ever reflected back on my actions as much as I’m doing now.
And why? Because Benny and Tom never allowed it.
We didn’t wallow in pity when things turned sour. Instead, we got drunk and flew to another country to party away our troubles. It worked every time. Unfortunately, now, I don’t have that luxury. Not only are the guys not talking to me, but I also can’t let Lex and Haden down. They work themselves to the bone, and I’m not a slacker.
Opening my eyes, I stare at the walls of the guest bedroom. Although it’s dark, the white and navy striped wallpaper creates a shadow, capturing my attention for a moment. I miss my own apartment. I miss having the freedom to bring women back to my place. And mostly, I miss being five minutes away from my mom.
My cell lights up, reflecting off the dark wall, and sitting on my home screen is a text from a chick I slept with last year. I sit up in bed with a smile on my face. Zoey’s a great gal, gorgeous, and extremely giving in the bedroom.
Zoey: Hi. What have you been up to?
I respond with a slight eagerness.
Me: Hey there, stranger. Long time, no speak. I’m in LA now. About a five-hour drive from you if I’m not mistaken. So what’s been happening in the world of Zoey Richards since we last left off? And BTW, where we last left off, would be a great place to pick right back up.
Great line. I’m mentally patting myself on the back for that one. Like most of the women I wind up in bed with, Zoey had just broken up with her ex. She was going through a rough period, and our worlds happened to collide. The second time around was pure coincidence. I ran into her at this bar while visiting a friend, and she happened to be there. It was just what I needed. In fact, I wanted to hook up again, but her dumbass roommate seemed to always be in the way.
Zoey: Nothing much. I moved closer to the beach. So you’re in LA? With a girlfriend?
I chuckle quietly at her comment.
Me: C’mon Zoey, I don’t settle down. Free if you are, gorgeous.
I begin typing a dirty message, reminiscing about the time we fucked in her room and how, when she came, her body did this delightful shudder. Nothing like a walk down memory lane. But somewhere in the middle of my text, another one appears, and it’s from Morgan. I quickly abandon my text to Zoey, opening the one from Morgan.
Morgan: I can see a flaw in your marketing plan. Perhaps Noah Mason is not so perfect after all?
The blood in my veins begins to boil. This woman has some sort of radar on me. She knows how to beat me down when I’m already feeling low. Quickly, I type back.
Me: Not everyone can be perfect like you, Ms. Bentley.
The bubble appears as I twitch my legs underneath the sheets impatiently, crossing my arms while I prepare myself for the wrath of her words.
Morgan: Never said I was perfect, and trust me, I’m far from it. Send me another draft with your dates correct for my perusal tomorrow. Good night, Noah.
Are you fucking kidding me? I’m meticulous with my work. And rarely do I get my dates wrong. I scramble out of bed to grab my laptop, powering it up as I wait for it to load and check my spreadsheet. In the meantime, Zoey sent me a long, drawn-out text about her being engaged or some shit. I skim through it quickly and respond with ‘Good luck. Your roomie’s a lucky guy,’ leaving that conversation immediately.
When I scan through my spreadsheet, I can see that one date has a slight error in the calculation, but nothing that affects the project. Miss Stuck-Up-Multiple-Personalities-Bitch obviously has nothing else to do but torment me.
Me: Thank you for picking up that MINOR detail. Corrected, resentful, and I apologize for being the center of your attention tonight.
I hit send, tapping my cell hard. That should shut her the fuck up. A few seconds later, she responds.
Morgan: What can I say, Noah, attention to detail is why I’m great at my job. And as for being the center of my attention tonight, you can only wish you were.
What the fuck does that mean? I think about a witty response, but through my anger, nothing comes to mind. Instead, I toss and turn the whole night, barely getting any sleep.
***
