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Chapter One
Bryant
Three weeks earlier . . .
The sexy waitress that's been serving us all night and flirting obnoxiously brings us another round—not that I need one. Joel and I have been drinking off and on since I landed a couple of days ago. It's highly unlikely that I'll be sober this entire trip. It's what we do when he's in this low place you can barely pull him out of: binge on girls, drugs, and booze. It always happens the same few times a year. I can almost fucking mark it on a calendar—the sacred dates that belonged to her.
The rest of the time he barely gets by—at least to those that really know him. His version of living is fucking every girl that'll fall into his bed, living at the bar like it's his second home, and selling himself for drug money when he is at work. I'll admit the little shit is good at his job, and maybe that's because he targets women for advertising, but he's slowly throwing everything away on the bag of cocaine he keeps in his pocket. I think he's intentionally playing Russian roulette with his life. It's the only way he can live with the guilt.
There is no responsibility with Joel. He threw it out the window with the absence of Karleigh. Not long after he finished his degree he moved here. Honestly, it's a fucking wonder that he holds onto his marketing job, but being his boy I know that and it doesn't change a fucking thing. So when he needs to get away from his Hell I ride through the fire with him.
And once again here we are, sitting in an upper class club known for their erotic free play according to Joel. I can't say it's all that bad, living like this from time to time. I have my own fun at home, but responsibility has taken the front seat in my life so it's limited. Every once and a while it's kind of nice to remember I'm still a single guy under thirty. There's really no point in living like the marrying kind if you aren't one.
I take the bottle of Bud Light from the blonde standing in front of me. She smiles when I notice the small creased slip of paper stuck in the top. "What's this?"
She leans over, her fake tits directly in front of my face, her lips outside of my ear. "If you want to play when I get off, my number is there. I'm done at 3AM."
I slip her tip between her cleavage. "I'll let you know, beautiful."
"I'll be waiting." She stands and walks away, shaking her ass as she does.
"You going to tap that? She's been staring at your dick all night. I may have even seen her drool once."
I look at Joel. "I'm undecided. She's not really my type."
"Since when do you have a type? Did you see her rack? Tits—that's every man's type."
"I don't know. I'm just not that interested. You want her?"
"Nope. You need to get your dick wet before it dries up and falls off. You've been stuck up my ass on suicide watch since you got here. I'm fine—better than fine actually—but you're obviously not fucked up enough."
"I think you've had too much blow."
"Listen. I know my shit. We can't be too picky, B. Picky people are looking for love, and love kills you. It's like fucking cancer. Takes you by surprise, consumes you whole, and before you know it one of you is lying six feet under while the other goes fucking insane. Those guys are sitting at home wackin' it on the couch to porn. If a hot girl wants to ride your cock you let her. End of story."
"No one is looking for love, Joel, especially not me."
"Then leave my ass to marinate in my coke and go have fun. You're on vacation," he says, spreading out his arms to his sides. "Because I'm sure as hell wetting mine and I don't want to feel guilty that you've been left out."
I laugh. Sometimes I kind of wish he was still around back home. He's always had that easygoing personality that makes people laugh with the stupid shit that comes out of his mouth. I guzzle half of my beer before it gets hot, digesting what he said. Maybe he's right. I haven't looked for another girl since Meredith broke things off.
A few people walk out of my direct line of sight as I lower the bottle from drinking the rest. Remaining is a petite girl in a short, tight, hot pink dress with a fine ass. She flips her long brown hair over to one side, revealing the bare upper part of her back. She stands out because she's just standing there, not dancing, not socializing, but more or less staring off into space as if she doesn't really want to be here. Then she looks over to the stairs that leads up to the beds, giving me a side profile of her face.
"Okay, fine," I say, nudging Joel. "I'll tell you what. See that girl over there in the pink? Brown hair, nice ass, and perfect legs . . .
"Yeah. The one that looks stuck up?"
"I'd like to think she just needs someone to show her a good time."
"Okay . . . So what?"
"If I can get her to leave with me, you have to take the server. If she turns me down, I’ll take the server."
"Who said I wanted big tit, fake-n-bake Brandy? Blonde is not my color tonight. What if I want that one?"
"I thought you weren't picky. A pussy is just a pussy, right?"
The smirk is already on my face, baiting him. "Dammit. Fine. I'll be your wing so you don't look like a dick. You owe me, asshole. If she doesn't want you I get a shot. She looks pissed. Pissed is fun to break in. Like fuckin’ McDonald’s, ya gottaput a smile on. . . her."
