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He wasn't exactly lying, though he had left out the fact that the birthday celebration had been held in a club along the strip and that he'd broken off from the group after he had met this model whose name had escaped him—as always.
“Of course, we’re civil, Mom. I'm all dressed and about to leave.”
His eyes strayed to the large mirror fixed to the wall and he stared at his boxer-clad reflection.
“I’m relieved to hear it,” his mother said. “Come home right away. Something's happened.” His heart skipped a beat.
“What’s wrong?”
He immediately started searching through his head for what the possible “something” could be. He'd been of good behavior for some months now—the parties being just a little bit excessive, but not enough to warrant that grave tone from his mother.
“We'll talk about it when you get back.”
“Just tell me now. You can't just call me only to put me in suspense. Geez, Mom, it’s a five-hour flight from Vegas to New York, and all I'll be thinking about is your secret news the whole time.”
After a pause which lasted a sprawling few seconds, his mother spoke. “Your grandfather is dying.” He froze, a cold shiver taking over his entire body.
“W-what! What’s wrong with him?”
“Blood cancer. He had a bad fall almost a week ago and was taken to the hospital. It wasn't until-"
“Almost a week! How come I am only just hearing this now?”
His mother's voice took on a sharp tone. “I think you should ask yourself that. I wasn't even sure I'd get through to you today. It took almost three tries for you to answer!”
“That doesn't matter. I'm coming home right away.”
“Rent a private jet. Your grandfather's been asking about you, he needs you. Now is not the time to slack off. You have to be on your best behavior.”
He didn’t even get a chance to respond, as his mom had already hung up the phone.
His eyes rested on the naked lady on his bed. Five minutes ago, he'd have smiled and jumped right back in bed with her. Now this woman just seemed like evidence of his bad behavior.
“Hey baby,” she grinned as she slid off the bed, walking over to him. Her breasts bounced as she walked, her hips swaying gracefully. He could smell her fruity perfume as she stood in front of him, her soft fingers trailing across his steel-hard chest. Her blue eyes were fixed on him, and she had a smile on her face.
“We had a great time last night, didn't we?”
“Sure did,” he said flatly.
The lady frowned. “Something wrong, sweetie?”
“No, no… Look, I'll have to go now. I need to take a shower and uh, leave in an hour.”
“Oh, well in that case,” she smiled. Her hand went for his phone and she quickly typed in her number.
“Britney,” she said, as if she knew that he had forgotten her name. (Which he had.) She gave him the phone back. “Call me,” she whispered in his ear.
He remained silent. The only person he ever lied to was his mother—a despicable habit that she almost forced everybody into; it was usually the only way to cope withher. Britney seemed to have noticed and tried to give it another chance.
“About that shower,” she whispered and pressed her body against his, “let's have one together.”
"No," he muttered and gently pushed her off.
"Excuse me?"
"Listen, em… emmm…”
“Britney!”
