Page 65 of Summer with My Sexy Ex
That feels good. So, I do it again.
* * *
“Hello, Mr. Reed. This is Angelica at the front desk. How may I help you today?” The woman who answers my call has a syrupy sweet voice that is mildly annoying.
“Yeah, hey Angelica, I’m checking out today. There are a few things that, uh, broke. I just wanted to give you a heads-up. I’ll pay for them, of course, I just wanted to prepare housekeeping for the mess.” I look around the room at the shambles I made of it. The room phone I’m talking on is one of the few things not bolted down that I didn’t throw at the wall.
“Would you like someone to come to your room and give you an estimate before you leave? Or charge the card on file?” she asks ways too nicely like this shit happens all the time. Hell, it probably does.
I run my hand along the back of my neck. “Just charge the card, please.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Reed. Is there anything else I can assist you with today?”
“My cell phone also, uh, broke. Can you tell me when the next flight to Santa Luna is?”
* * *
I pick up another phone from a kiosk at the airport, and by the time I’ve landed in Santa Luna, the carrier has transferred all my information, and it’s like the first one never broke.
I text my brother to let him know I need my dog, Misha, at my house before I get there. Because she’s the only thing that will help me feel better right about now. Then, I text Blake and ask him the question I’ve been rolling over in my mind the entire flight.
ME: Can you be my friend and not your sister’s brother?
BLAKE: If you hurt her, I’ll kill you.
ME: What if she hurt me?
BLAKE: Aw, hell. What happened?
ME: On my way home from the airport. You got time?
BLAKE: Yeah, man. Your place?
ME: An hour or so?
BLAKE: I’ll bring beer.
ME: See you then.
* * *
“Look, I’m gonna be honest,” Blake says after I’ve filled him in on the last three days. “I’m not going to say I was enthusiastic about the two of you getting together. Because I wasn’t. I know you, dude, better than anyone.”
“I know.”
“So . . .” he trails off.
When he doesn’t keep talking, I ask, “So, what?”
“You aren’t a relationship guy, man. Everyone knows it.”
“I didn’t hate being married to your sister.”
“And if that isn’t an endorsement, I don’t know what is,” he says drily. “Maybe getting married to win a game wasn’t the best idea.”
“Kinda like getting married because you knocked up your girlfriend?” I’m being a dick. “Sorry, dude, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“No, you did,” he says. “And you’re right. It’s a stupid fucking reason to get married. But I’m doing it anyway.”
