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I’ve missed you. All of you.
No guessing what part she misses the most.
I decide to reply, afraid that if I don’t, she’ll continue messaging me like nothing happened.
Hello Juliet. What do you want?
Not the nicest way to say hello to someone you’ve slept with, but I’m not in the mood for her formalities.
I was just wondering what time I should come down for the ceremony.
I read the message twice because it surely can’t say what I think it did. But it does.
Is she insane? When she sends through another text, I know the answer is yes.
I can’t wait to show you my dress…and what’s underneath.
Have I just been transported to the twilight zone without my knowledge? Why on earth does she think she’s still coming? I thought the whole “it’s been interesting, but I think it’s best we stop seeing one another” speech made my intentions clear, but she obviously thinks it was some kind of foreplay.
It’s time I set her straight.
I apologize if there’s been some kind of misunderstanding, but I thought I made myself clear. You and I, we’re done. Therefore, you turning up to an event, which is highly important to me, is really not appropriate. I do apologize for any confusion.
This is the nicest possible way I can tell her to back off. I don’t have the time or patience to be dealing with this, and quitefrankly, I’m insulted that she thinks she can just message me after all this time and believe I would welcome her, dick in hand.
When I don’t receive a response for a few minutes, I don’t know if I should celebrate or hide. My growling stomach screams at me, demanding I stop being a pussy and go eat. I send a brief text to Hunter, Finch, and Susanna, letting them know I’m alive. I then grab my wallet and room key, and go in search of some food, making sure to leave my cell phone behind.
The moment the glaring sunset hit my light-sensitive corneas, I decided to dine in at the hotel restaurant, as I’m notthatready to face the world. I’m also quite certain I still might be a touch intoxicated—but two bottles of scotch over a weekend will do that.
Looking over the menu, I decide to order a feast and make up for lost time because I’m ravenous. After placing my order, I begin flicking through my iPad and decide to take some notes on the paper I’m currently writing. I finally have the time to focus on my research, and I plan on utilizing every second, seeing as I will be amongst fellow comrades who will appreciate my findings.
Lost in the current edition of theMedical Journal, I fail to notice someone standing beside me until I hear a throat being cleared. Looking up, I see the blue-eyed server who took my order earlier standing by my table.
“Can I get you another beer?” she asks, looking at my full Budweiser.
“I’m okay for the moment,” I reply and notice her looking down at my iPad.
“Are you here for the doctor thingy?” she gushes and points above her head, indicating the ballroom where the event will be held.
“Yes, I am.”
“That’s really cool,” she says, brushing a blond lock of hair behind her ear. “Are you a doctor?”
“Psychiatrist,” I reply, slipping off my glasses and reaching for my beer.
“Ooh, so you can read people’s minds or something?” she says, and I’m not sure if she’s being serious or not, so I chuckle, not wanting to offend her.
“It’s one of my many talents.”
“I can believe that,” she says, her voice dropping low as she does a quick sweep down my body. “What other talents do you have,Doctor?”
God, this really is too easy. You’d think I’d be put off on women, considering everything that has happened. But I’m not.
Curling my finger and beckoning her to come closer, she complies and stoops low, cupping her ear when I indicate it’s a secret.
“It’s probably better if I show you,” I say, my voice filled with empty promise.
She giggles and pulls back slightly, but she’s still close enough that I can see her pupils dilate in desire. “Maybe you could show me after my shift, then? I get off at ten.”
