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"Jesus, no. Why would I have a one-night stand? That's not my style, and you know it."
"Look. Troy and Lacey burned you, and you've been walking around in a pissy mood ever since. Cut loose. Get wild. Expel all that anger and pent-up frustration that's bogging you down. You said your job was your priority, and you didn't have time in your life for another relationship, although that's not exactly what you and Troy had. So go out there and find yourself some gorgeous guy and have a fling—no commitments, no ties, and no looking back. Enjoy yourself, and when you return, you can climb back into that rut of yours. Seriously, a one-nighter will do you some good. There has to be a good-looking guy around there somewhere."
"There are plenty, I'm sure, like the one I ran into in front of the hotel that had my eyes popping out of my sockets." I can't help envisioning the man's stunning blue eyes and delicious backside.
"See? You have an option already. What did you say to the guy?"
"I thanked him for stopping my driver from leaving so I could retrieve my cell phone from the car's back seat."
"What else?"
"That was basically it. Then he left to go to one of the apartments across the street."
"No way. That was a perfect opportunity, and you let the guy leave?"
I pull on my ear, wishing I hadn't mentioned the hot stranger. "What was I supposed to do? Ask the guy if he has some spare time and wants to go to my room to have sex? Maybe you can screw some stranger, but I can't. And it won't change what Troy and Lacey did. It would be like taking revenge, but it wouldn't be on them."
"Revenge? Hardly. It's more like personal pleasure. It's all about makingyoufeel better, and I'm telling you, screwing some guy's brains out will get all that toxic anger out of your system. Do me a favor. You may disagree with me about the benefits of having a fling, but at least go to a store around there and pick up a pack of condoms. That way, if a situation does come up, you can jump on it and the guy. Come on, at least do that. I swear I won't say anything else about it if you do this one thing."
"Dammit, you drive me nuts. Fine, I'll at least think about it, and don't say another word because that's all you'll get out of me. Got it?"
"Yeah. I got it. That's better than nothing, I suppose. I'll check with you later. I have to go."
"All right. Bye." I hang up my phone and sink into the chair. How did the two of us end up so different? Sometimes, I envy her free spirit, but when I dissect our lives, I have to choose mine. It's far more stable and orderly, albeit way too stressful at times. But it's normal. Or at least what I consider to be normal.
Pulling myself from my thoughts, I get up and shower so I can rejuvenate my body and remove the funk from the airplane. Finished freshening up, I slip into a pair of jeans and a pullover sweater, grab my purse and jacket, and go downstairs to the bar to have a drink while I search the internet for places to eat.
I'm into my third glass of a California chardonnay when I realize two men sitting in the bar are ogling me and trying to get my attention. I laugh, thinking how much Laurel would love this. It's her kind of game. I envision the things she'd be doing if she were in my shoes—a finger stroking the stem of her wineglass, a sultry glance beneath hooded eyes, a swish of her hair, a dip of her finger in her wine, and a sensual sucking of her fingertip. Laurel excels at the game of chase, like Lacey—the conniving bitch who slept with my boyfriend. My smile turns into a growl. Then I ask myself, is Laurel right? What's the harm if I take her suggestion?
Then I scoff at the ridiculousness of the idea.
I empty my glass and slip into my jacket, noticing the disappointed faces of the two men watching me. The suave-looking gentleman in a business suit makes eye contact with me and smiles. I beeline it toward the exit as he rises from his chair. I'm hungry and have no interest in encouraging the man, figuring I'll stroll the neighborhood and check out one of the restaurants I found on my Google search instead.
Once outside, I walk down the driveway to the curb. I'm waiting for a break in the traffic so I can cross the street when I notice a neon green plus sign above one of the businesses. After my discussion with Laurel, it seems bizarre that a pharmacy isone of the first places I see after leaving the hotel. Amused, I stare at the sign and wonder if some little demon is pushing me to take Laurel's advice.
Then I head toward the sign.
I step inside the brightly lit store, feeling like I'm under a spotlight as I wander its aisles looking for condoms. Finding them, I gawk at the display. Who knew there was such an array of varieties and sizes? Although I can't read Hungarian, the images on the packaging and some of the words tell me there are ultra-thin, natural, ribbed, extended pleasure, ultra-stimulation, desensitizing, and ones that are flavored. And the sizes?Holy shit, my mind screams as I scan the packages. I can get small, snug-fit, standard, large, or extra-large, and I have no clue what to purchase.
Laurel would know, but is an earful of her glee worth the phone call? I scan the packages again and decide it is. Retrieving my phone from my purse, I dial her number while steeling myself for her comments.
"Laurel, I need some help," I say when she answers.
"I just talked to you two hours ago. What happened?"
"I'm in a pharmacy, and I need your advice."
"For what?"
I place my hand over my mouth as I whisper into the phone, "For condoms. There are so many different kinds. I don't know what to get."
"Yes!" she screams into the phone. "I love, love, love it. You're finally taking my advice. Oh, this is precious."
"You can stop with the joyous screaming. Tell me what to get."
"Get whatever you normally do, or pick one you think will feel good. It's not that difficult a choice."
"It is if you never buy them! The guy always buys them!" I retort in frustration. Mortified someone might have heard me, Iscan the aisle to my right. Then I turn to my left, immediately sucking in my breath. "Oh God," I squeak, my cheeks burning.
