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I grimaced, already regretting the decision. “Zeppelin just asked for time off Friday night,” I said slowly.
“Okay.” I could hear a woman speaking Spanish in the background, but her voice slowly faded away before disappearing entirely as a door clicked shut. “And?”
“And you have a serious problem with Latin women,” I said quietly. “She wants to go on a date, Ollie.”
“With you?” he laughed. “And what? Nervous it’s been too long and you’ll blow too soon? Listen bro, always take one out of the chamber before the date. It’s Dude 101.”
No fucking shit, I taught you that. “This was a mistake. Sorry to bother you, dickhead.” I hung up, laying back in the grass and staring at the sky as Carl came over to rest his head on my stomach. I pet his head, wishing I could osmose to Zeppelin all the reasons she shouldn’t go out with Caffrey Brannigan. Trying to explain it to her would be a nightmare, but it was wildly unfair of me to expect her not to go simply because I didn’t want her to and couldn’t tell her why.
This was exactly why I didn’t date, why I didn’t hook up with anyone who wasn’t paid to be there. I was a terrible partner — I expected too much, gave too little, and never apparently learned my lesson. At least at the club, I get exactly what I paid for. Nothing more, nothing less. Everyone got off, everyone went home happy, and I didn’t have to wonder what was going to happen next or how long it would take for me to fuck it up.
No, Zeppelin was definitely better off with someone else ... I just wished like fuck that it was someone other than Caffrey Brannigan.
He’d already tried to ruin my life once.
