Page 65 of Closer

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

KNOW YOUR ENEMY

LEVI

Aweek after Brie left, Margaux dashes into the living room. The curtains are drawn, the TV is on, playing some French shit that I can’t understand so I make up words for them. Far as I’ve surmised, all the women on this show are lying cunts who love men and leave them broken-hearted. Yeah, I know that’s different from the usual “he’s sleeping with the twin sister I never knew I had” plot line used in soap operas, but let’s just go with it.

“Monsieur, monsieur.”

“What?”

“Telephone for you.”

I glare at my housekeeper. No one has my phone number here. I don’t even have it, because I didn’t know we still had a landline. I take the phone from her outstretched hand and answer it. “Bonjour, motherfucker.”

“Well hello to you too,” my bandmate Ash says, and I heave a sigh. I’m not sure if it’s in relief or disappointment.

“How did you get this number?” I push Dog’s head out of my crotch. For some reason the little asshole thinks my Johnson makes a nice pillow.

“I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you so ... you got any hookers there? Your maid says you’ve been walking around butt-naked for months.”

“Nope, there’s just me and Dog. He’s naked too.”

“I hope to Christ Dog is a fucking mutt, because I just pulled up on your doorstep and I’m cool with it if that’s your thing, but I’m not ready to see your junk all up in some other guy’s arse. I’m still trying to void the mental image of you and Coop sticking it to Red in that lift.”

“Thanks for the reminder, arsehole,” I bark, but I don’t feel it. I don’t feel anything but pure, unadulterated numbness thanks to the empty bottle of whisky on the floor beside me.

“Nice place you got here.” Ash walks into my living room. He hangs up the phone and tosses a cushion at me. I cover my junk. Dog runs over to him, tail wagging as he sniffs the newcomer.

Such a shit guard dog.

“Bite his fucking arm off, Dog. Attack.” Dog huffs, and sits back on his haunches, his head tilted and his tongue lolling to the side as Ash pats his head. “Fucking traitor.”

“Hey, I’m not the enemy, or did you forget?”

“Everyone who isn’t booze is the fucking enemy right now.”

“It’s two months, man. You’re really still this fucked up?”

“Yep, only now I’m fucked up over a different piece of pussy.”

“Jesus Christ, Quinn.” He flops down on the couch beside me.

“So, what’s your excuse?”

Ash frowns. “My excuse for what?”

“For looking like shit.”

He just grins. “I’m fine. A little jetlagged, but I’m good.”

“Don’t bullshit me. You’ve been saying you were fine since before Red ever came along.”

“That’s because my arse is fine.” He grins and shakes the arse in question. “All the girls say so.”

I laugh. “What the fuck are you doing here, man?”

“Just came to see if my best friend is still in the land of the living. There something wrong with that?”

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