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“We going to the Milhawk party this Friday?” Nick asks, done with the conversation about Greta. I am happy to let it drop as well.
“Why not? We got anything better planned?”
“Nope. Can’t drink though, so if you want to get shitfaced, I’ll drive your weak ass home.”
“Thanks for the offer,” I say dryly. Maybe I should tie one on this weekend. It’d make the time fly by a little faster.
* * *
Jason Milhawk lives in South Loop where old money and new are on display between the historic row houses and the newly furbished townhouses. Milhawk comes from old lumber baron money and lives in a row house which has seen a lot of cocktail parties but only a few ragers.
Milhawk has a fully stocked bar and game room in the basement that his parents had built and sound-proofed so he could practice with his band. Milhawk’s band is terrible, but when you’re drunk it all sounds good.
And I am really drunk. Milhawk dragged me behind the bar the minute that Nick and I got to his house, and we proceeded to see how many shots of Patron we could drink in ten minutes. A lot is the answer to that. I stopped counting after the tenth one because . . . well, I couldn’t count anymore.
Nick’s not allowed to drink because North Prep athletics has a zero tolerance policy. One drop and you’re out and I obviously don’t give a damn but for all his careless attitude, sports mean something to him. I suppose that is why he sleeps around so much. It’s the only vice he’s allowed that won’t affect his eligibility.
If Charlotte were here, I wouldn’t be downing shots either because I’d be too concerned about keeping an eye on her. But she left me and went halfway around the world to hang out with Fraus and Frauleins and people she says have been puked on by the good looks fairy. I wonder if she means guys too. A chill skitters down my spine. I’ve never been uncertain with Charlotte before. She’s never looked at another guy with any interest . . . but she was a virgin before.
She was nearly animalistic with me before she left. After we had sex that first time, it was like a dam had broken, and she wanted me all the time. Which was great in the moment, but now I’m worried. What if she’s horny and she looks to some other guy close to her to fulfill her needs? Fuck me sideways.
I fumble with my phone to see if I can call her. What’s the time zone difference again? Would I be waking her up? What time does it say on my phone, anyway? I peer at the screen, trying to get a fix on the numbers that keep moving. Is that a ten? Is it ten? Or is it ten minutes after one?
A slim arm hooks under my arm, and little fingers curl around my biceps. For a minute I think it’s Charlotte, but then the overwhelming scent of musk hits me. The obvious cologne is something Charlotte would never wear. Peering to my left, I see Greta. Something is smudged around her eyes, making her appear alarmingly like a raccoon.
“You’ve got shit under your eyes.” I make a circling gesture in the general direction of her face.
She rolls her eyes at me. “It’s eye shadow, genius.”
I grunt. Looks like raccoon eyes. “Charlotte doesn’t wear her eye shadow like that.”
Greta rolls her eyes even harder. So hard that I wonder why they don’t actually fall out of her eyes. Maybe her eye shadow is like a force field and holds them in. Hmm. I’ll have to ask Charlotte about that. I pick up my phone again, but Greta pulls my arm down.
“Nathan,” she breathes against my neck. “I’m sorry about earlier this week. I was just kidding. I know Charlotte was sick and that she’s not pregnant.”
The air is warm, and her breath smells like she just chewed five mints. There’s an almost medicinal feel to it, and it reminds me uncomfortably of the hospital. I try to move away but realize that I’m sitting on one end of the sofa with the arm against my left side and Greta plastered to my right. I shake my right arm a little to let her know that I need room. When she doesn’t move, I scowl at her.
“Even if she was pregnant, so what? Kid would be mine, and all of us would be happy.”
That’s not entirely the truth. Her mom and dad would frown. A lot. But in the end, Charlotte and me having kids is the culmination of both our families’ dreams. They’d get over it real quick. And we’re going to have kids. Not now, I mean, but later after I’m out of the Marines. We should talk about this. I tap the glass of my phone and the hazy shapes form into the numbers 1:15.
