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My laughter lingers. “I’m not great with kids. But happy to have Lex show me around town.”
“You behave, okay?” she warns me. “Single men like you spell only one word.”
“What are you talking about?” I tease, pouring myself more bourbon as we speak and walking toward my laptop. “Didn’t you see my profile photo with the halo hovering over my head?”
Charlie snickers. “Listen, in terms of a job, a friend of ours runs a publishing house. Lex is a stakeholder, and I know they’re looking to expand their marketing division. I’ll get Lex to call you later, okay?”
“Sounds like a plan,” I respond with a smile. “And Charlie… thank you.”
“You’re family, Noah. You don’t ever need to thank me.”
We say our goodbyes, and the moment the call ends, I think about Charlie’s parting words. I’d always thought of Benny and Tom as family, but the last few months have proven how very wrong I was.
Moving to California is exactly the fresh start I need.
With my laptop switched on, I open a Word document and begin typing up my resignation letter. I’d been working steadily at this company for the last four years. Worked my way up from Marketing Analyst to Marketing Director. E-commerce is my strength, and I know leaving this comfortable position will be a risk.
But the biggest risk in life is not taking a risk.
Rereading my words and downing the remnants of my bourbon for extra encouragement, I attach the document to an email. Typing very few words, though with a heartful thanks for all the opportunities, my mouse hovers over the top of my inbox until I finally hit send.
It’s time to move on.
NOAH
I’ve never been fond of flying. Something about being crammed into a confined space along with two hundred impatient people all in a hurry to reach their destination seems unnatural. Add to that the cardboard food that’s barely edible, coffee which tastes like water, and worst of all, the extremely claustrophobic restroom.
I avoid flying anywhere unless, of course, it’s for leisure. Like Cancun last year. Leisure and pleasure all rolled into one. A boys’ trip which turned into a weeklong fuck-fest with a newly divorced woman seeking revenge on her ex-husband by spending his money.
Life was so sweet back then.
It’s a five-hour flight to Los Angeles, five hours of flying economy because business class is sold out, sitting next to a girl who bursts into tears every time she flips the page of her book. Cute girl, maybe early twenties, with a short brown bob tied back and reading glasses which make her look nerdy yet sexy at the same time. She’s curled up, legs beneath her chin, resting against the window. The way she sits, along with the way she bites her nails nervously, warns me that Miss Goody-Two-Shoes should best be left alone.
But I’m bored and not in the mood to watch the crappy television shows or unpopular movies they show on the plane.
Without trying to draw attention, I watch the way her lips tremble and her eyes glass over with every flick of a page. My stare immediately wanders to the title of the book—Moving on After a Broken Heart.
Too. Fucking. Easy.
Then my mind halts, remembering the promise I made when I left home.
r /> I promise not to prey on vulnerable women.
I promise to keep my dick in my pants.
I promise not to engage in sexual activity that may be construed as any form of revenge.
And so, this one-way ticket is supposed to be a fresh start—a way of reinventing myself in a place filled with superficial wannabe actors and actresses.
Hollywood.
I close my eyes with my earphones on, trying to drown out the aircraft noise.
Not long after, there’s a gentle tap on my shoulder. “Sir, would you like a drink?”
I open my eyes to be met by a sexy red-haired stewardess waiting to serve me with a flirtatious smile. Fuck, those lips. Red lipstick—my weakness.
I’m not thirsty, but decide I need to leave a good impression on her and order a scotch. I’ve never fucked a stewardess.
