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Then, the story of my ex rears its ugly head, highlighting my fear of another disastrous relationship. Wouldn’t it just be easier to stay friends with the guys?
The warmth of my tea works its way through me, and I promise myself to tread carefully through the challenges ahead.
As I hear Jasper return home on his roaring motorcycle, I take one more look at the sky, where the moon is the tiniest sliver. In the middle of a crazy place like New York, there is still beauty to appreciate, just like in the midst of uncertainty, I know I can keep my balance. For the longest time I’ve thought I just needed good sex.
Now I’m beginning to see I need much more.
* * *
22
JASPER
I’m prettysure I’m coming down with the flu. Or something.
Try hot and feverish, add the ants that seem to be creeping up and down my arms, and I’m about to go out of my mind. I drive off the sensation by jogging in place, probably annoying the shit out of my downstairs neighbors, shaking my arms like I’m conducting a freaking orchestra or something. It’s not working.
This is not good. The next couple weeks at work will be very, very busy. I have no time to be sick. No time for distractions.
And yet I can’t get Ava’s face out of my mind.
Dammit.
Here I am, the man-whore of all man-whores, the king of booty calls—with the exception of my horn-dog college buddy, Andy—and I want to spend anevening at home.
If he gets wind of this, he’ll demand I have my head examined.
There’s been a shift in recent weeks for me, a gradual change in my interests and priorities. A new outlook. It hasn’t happened overnight, but rather crept up on me, unexpectedly. Sometimes it feels okay, like an old pillow you can’t sleep without, and sometimes it’s so damn uncomfortable I want to tear my hair out. Like I’m hanging upside down. Like everything is backward. Like I have the flu. Or something.
Almost since I reached puberty, my name has been synonymous, at least among my friends, with hook-ups and other shenanigans involving women. The contact list in my phone is full of lovely ladies who I’ve met once or twice, had a great time with, and will likely never call again.
Why would I, especially in a place like Manhattan? There is no end to the supply of women to spend time with. I’m basically a kid in a candy shop.
And a bit of an asshole. I’ll admit it.
It all started the day the guys and I spent with Ava. I still can’t get over the light I saw her in that day, all chill and cute as shit, when previously I thought she was some buttoned up corporate climber who did nothing but work all the time.
Leo and Ethan were on the same page too. I could see it in their faces. So goddamn obvious.
Who would have thought a desire to help my buddy’s little sister would get so… complicated? I mean, maybe it’s not actually complicated, but there’s something going on that I’m not sure I like. One bit.
Is this what shrinks call self-discovery or something? Not that I know about that crap. It’s just that I picked up a copy of Ava’sGlistenthe other day and read some woo-woo garbage about changing your priorities from the person you are, to the one you want to be.
Or some shit like that.
I think I’ve stepped into a parallel universe where I’ve been reprogrammed to lose interest in the allure of my usual escapades. I’m not saying I’ve been reborn as a saint or anything—that’s just not possible—but the appeal of my wild nights out on the town, the endless conquests, the challenge of getting into some girl’s pants, is fading.
Which is why I think there may be something wrong with me.
I first noticed, as my coworkers undoubtedly did, when some of the guys in the office were tossing around stupid jokes about women’s sports. I used to be one of the loudest voices, cracking jokes without a second thought. But this time, for some inexplicable reason, my coworkers’ smug faces irritated the shit out of me, rubbing me the wrong way until I didn’t see a damn thing funny about what they were saying.
It was like a switch flipped in my brain, and I shut all those loud mouths down, telling them to back off with their shit talk.
Yeah, me, the guy who’s the worst of them, who used to laugh as if dumping on women’s sports was no big deal, suddenly standing up for women athletes and the issues they face, not least of which is their shitty and inequitable pay.
I don’t know who was more shocked, the guys at the magazine, or me. They immediately stopped flapping their gums and returned to their desks, mumbling what I can only imagine under their breaths.
A week ago, I would have done the same.
