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Sure enough, I find her: Ariana Michaels. I guess she didn’t get around to removing him, or maybe they really are still friends?
Hoping her page is not set to private, I click on her profile. A recent photo pops up first, of her and her two friends by the pool.
Not just any pool, the adults pool at this resort.
My lips turn up in a small smile. If I didn’t know any better, it looks like a girls’ weekend away.
I run a hand through my hair.
Then I expand and read the caption:Girl power – Happy almost Birthday to me!
Her birthday, hmm.
I vaguely remember her asking me some months ago about hotels and resorts in Cancun because she was arranging a joint birthday surprise for herself and James. His birthday is this week.
The plot thickens.
Since I’ve been here a lot over the years, I recommended this resort. I get it’s awkward, but I don’t get why she didn’t just tell me they’d broken up.
I scroll down her Facebook page. There aren’t many photos or anything to go by on here, so she’s obviously not the kind of person that spills the guts and glory of their entire life for anyone to read on social media. I respect that; so little is private these days.
I meant what I said to her about catching up. She’s always been gracious, but I’m probably the last person she wants to see after a breakup. That could be awkward.
For some reason, I keep scrolling, and I see a few posts from a few months ago. She isn’t a regular on here, which isn’t common for most young people. There is nothing worse than millennials with too much time on their hands, posing and checking themselves out from all angles, making money by acting like an ass and calling themselves creators.
They wouldn’t know hard work if it bit them on the armpit.
I look closer.
One shot she’s posted is a cup of coffee with a deer drawn into the foam with the caption:How cool is this?
Another is a shot of her computer at work; she’s asking for suggestions on what to do for a Halloween themed wedding, and there’s an emoji with a brain explosion below it.
Ahh. I forgot, she’s some kind of events planner or coordinator or some shit.
There are barely any pictures of herself, or of her and James, and they dated for a while.
The only one I find of them together is at Christmas, and they’re smiling under a huge Christmas tree, wearing matching reindeer sweaters. They look happy, so it must have been early on in the relationship.
After a few minutes, I wonder why the fuck I’m scrolling through Ariana’s Facebook, and click off.
It’s really none of my business, and it’s definitely not a good idea to have dinner with her or otherwise. If she’s the one who got dumped, then it could be a very awkward conversation and potentially include tears. The last thing I want to hear about is what a douchebag my son is. Trust me, women of the world, I get it, but he definitely doesn’t take after his father.
I treat women well. Granted, I can’t always commit, but we have a good time. They know what they’re there for. I might be forty-eight, but I still enjoy sex. In fact, I enjoy a lot of sex.
It’s meaningless and definitely non-committal, but sometimes after a long day at work with meetings, deadlines, and constant headaches, a man needs to unwind. There is nothing better than a long, hot fuck with a random stranger with no strings attached. Don’t get me wrong, though, lately, I have been craving the idea of a woman being around when I get home after a long day.
I love beautiful women, of all shapes and sizes. If she has a bit of personality to boot, then I’m really sold. I can’t bed a fucking idiot. I just can’t.
My dick twitches at the thought. It’s been a few weeks since I did just that because I’ve been busy beating people up and attending funerals.
Surely, there will be some cute, single women here on vacation. I know it’s Mexico and all, but that’s even better, meaning I can stay anonymous.
Women seem to still appreciate how I look, but that’s only because I stay in shape, and—for want of a better word—manscape the fuck out of myself. I draw the line at waxing, but I trim south of the border and keep my beard short and neat.
I like to stay in shape, keep fit, work off the booze. Oh, that and tattoos, which have become my favorite thing to collect. None are visible until I remove my clothes, and that’s how I prefer to keep it.
Women love it.
