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“You can say you’re a dirty manwhore,” Hunter pipes up in disgust. “You can keep that,” he adds, pointing at his beer. “I have no idea where your mouth has been.”
“Not listening,” I reply, flipping him off.
“Dix, we’re worried,” Finch says, and I can’t help but compare his comment to the one he said all those months ago.
Same bar. Same night. Same issue. Although this time, it feels a million times worse.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” I reply. “I’m fine. Life is peachy. I’ll be leaving for Boston tomorrow, and I plan on knocking the socks off all of those bigwigs and making myself known.”
“Well, you’re certainly doing that here.”
Needless to say, Hunter is pissed at me for not being a man and calling Madison. He really took to her, and although I’ve told him numerous times that it ended before it even began, he’s still living in denial.
“Just call her,” he exclaims for the twentieth time this hour.
“Why don’t you call her?” I suggest but instantly regret it as his face lights up. “It was a joke. You will not be calling her or seeing her at her work, for that matter. All forms of communication are off. Understood?”
When Hunter ignores me, I repeat. “Understood?”
“Yes, loud and clear,” he replies unhappily. “I just wish—” But I cut him off by holding up my finger.
“This conversation is over.”
Hunter huffs and folds his arms across his chest, but I refuse to give in.
I entertained the notion of maybe contacting Madison within the first few days after she walked out on me, but after those few silent days transpired, I realized her silence was almost deafening, and we were done.
I’m sick of women and their head games. I’ve had enough to last me a lifetime. So I’ve decided to go back to what I know and what I’m good at. Work, sleep, and sex.
Work is easy. Sleep is easy. Sex is easy. It’s all the stuff in between that gets in the way.
“You looking forward to Boston?” Finch asks, trying to change the subject, and I nod.
“It’ll be nice to get away for a few days,” I reply. I’m extending my trip out and having a few extra days of R&R.
Thankfully, I’ll be going alone, as I haven’t heard from Juliet—bar a lacy thong she sent to my office—since the night I told her it was over. At least one good thing came out of that night.
Getting out of NY will do me good because, like the city that never sleeps, neither do I.
I arrive in Boston early the following morning.
The moment I enter my lavish room, I draw the curtains, switch off all forms of technology, and drink myself into oblivion, thanks to the two bottles of scotch I purchased on my drive down here. I plan on staying this way till I pass out, as I’m too exhausted to face the harsh light of day.
Nature calls some time later, so I crawl out of my drunken stupor, unsure of what day or time it is. Quite frankly, I don’t give a damn. I have no plans, and the awards ceremony isn’t till Saturday evening, which is six days away…I think. On that note, time to face reality because I think I’ve hibernated enough.
I shower but don’t bother to shave. I throw on some jeans and an old tee, and I’m ready to face the world. Firing up my laptop, I groan when I see the three hundred plus emails waiting for me to read. But they can wait. Anything important, Susanna would have attended to anyway.
Checking my stocks and the Yankees score, I switch off my computer, having had enough for the day.
I power up my cell, and when I see it’s Monday evening, I can’t believe I slept through the entire weekend. But what was the point of staying awake?
My cell dings, indicating I have a text message. I nearly fall out of my seat when I see who the sender is.
Miss me? ;)The message taunts me with its winky emoticon.
I really don’t know what to think other than why the hell is Juliet messaging me?
Honestly, I believed she would have forgotten all about me and moved on to the next chump. So when she texts me once again, I can’t help but think that maybe I was wrong.
