Page 12 of The Final Faceoff
* * *
And because I am nothing if not committed to my brand of questionable decision-making, I end the night in someone else’s bed.
Don’t judge. I haven’t had sex in . . . a long time. A very long time. Probably a year. Maybe more. This is the first time I don’t leave in the middle of a date because there’s no chemistry—or I’m annoyed as fuck. Listen, I’m not picky, I just don’t know how to choose the right guy. People joke about it, but it’s the truth. I am a terrible judge of character when it comes to men.
Aspen says it’s daddy issues. I try to give men the benefit of the doubt, but they always disappoint me and I just walk away. Except today. Listen, it seemed like a good idea at the time to sleep with him. Did tequila help with that decision? I’d rather not talk about it.
Don Julio and I need to have a serious conversation about boundaries.
I wake up to a regret headache and a text from Leif.
Leif: Are you alive?
I groan, rubbing my temple as I slide out of the bed that is not mine. The man—Mark? Mike? Something-M?—is still asleep, snoring lightly into his pillow, blissfully unaware that he is now part of my ever-growing list of Why Did I Do That? moments.
No, those moments don’t include one-night stands all the time. Most of the times are . . . well, other stuff I’d rather not disclose. I scan the floor, spot my dress next to a shoe that is absolutely not mine, and tiptoe through the room like a fugitive.
Once I’m safely outside, I text back,Barely. Also, tell me why I do this to myself.
He of course responds immediately:I assume this is either having a terrible date or . . . what did you do now?
I groan, wondering whether I should tell him what I really did. But why skip the issues when he practically knows everything about my dating life? And so I answer:A one-night stand, of course.
His response comes immediately,Oh, wow, a one-night stand? That’s something I would do, not you. Did you use protection?
I stare at the phone with my mouth agape. Is he kidding?Of course I did,I respond, very appalled by his question. Then add,That wasn’t my question. I asked why I did this shit to myself.
Leif: Oh, you want my professional opinion now?
Hailey: No, I want you to say something that makes me feel better about my life choices.
Leif: You’re a beautiful disaster with questionable taste. There’s your compliment.
I laugh, shaking my head as I head toward my hotel room. When I step into the elevator, I answer,That was mean.
Leif: That was accurate.
Hailey: Excuse you, I’ll have you know this guy was perfectly nice. He held doors open, didn’t talk about crypto, and had a full set of clean sheets. That’s an A+ in today’s dating scene.
Leif: Congratulations on your participation trophy.
Hailey: Rude.
Leif: So? What was wrong with him?
I sigh, swiping my keycard and entering my room.
Hailey: Nothing. I just wasn’t into it. He was nice but . . . I don’t know. He was too polite—even the sex was polite.
Leif: You like nice, well-mannered people.
Hailey: Yeah, but I don’t want to sleep with one. I need some bite. Some fire. Someone who doesn’t just agree with everything I say like I’m a customer service call.
Leif: This is interesting information. So, you need an asshole?
Hailey: Not an asshole. Just . . . someone who can challenge me a little. Maybe someone who takes charge, who is gentle sometimes, but also . . .
Leif: But also what?
