Page 4 of To Feel Like This Again
“By the way, you need to get your car tinted. It’ll protect you from UV rays,” I fired back at him through the crowd.
As you can imagine in Season 1, Episode 2 — things got messy at the football game.
Anyway, moving on.
Jessica and I had something really special… but, regrettably, it ended on January 16, 2018 at 7:34pm EST when she texted, “What are we doing?”
Six years later while going through a break-up with her fiancé, she, in her own words, “wanted someone to talk to”.
Translation:she wanted to sleep with me. You know, for the obvious reasons.
1. She could have poured out her heart to one of her girls, especially Heather, her single friend with the seven kitties who’s always willing to give relationship advice.
2. Once you’ve properly satisfied a woman, you can always get some in the future, even if she is happily married. Women fake orgasms and lie to men about their performance, so you can’t always be sure. But I knew, without a shadow of doubt, I was phenomenal because I had accidentally seen her text message to her friend — “Girl, he was amazing last night. I came three times.”
3. She always felt bad about what had happened between her dad and me… and in her own way, wanted to make it up to me.
More than anything, I wanted to listen to her vent because that’s the easiest way to get laid. If you know what I mean. So, after sending messages back-and-forth for the entire day, instantly responding to her texts — while I was in meetings, typing on my phone in front of my colleagues; halfway through my greasy cheeseburger, smudging the screen with my filthy hands; in between sets of bench presses at the gym, irritating the people in line waiting to use the machine; on the way home, with one hand on the steering wheel, drawing the ire of the policeman who I asked to hurry and issue the ticket — she sent me the message I’d been patiently waiting on, “Are you busy?”
I closed my laptop, abruptly leaving the Zoom meeting with the compensation committee of a manufacturing companyon the Jamaica Stock Exchange. “No, why?” I texted. Later I explained to the committee members that I had internet issues; unfairly bashing the telecommunications company to cover my tracks.My bad.
“Can we finish this conversation in person? Some things are better said in person.”Say no more.
I was already stuffing my work clothes into my laptop bag. The shoes were half-in, half-out and I couldn’t close the zipper. “Sure… where would you like to meet?”
“Is it okay for you to come here?”
“Okay, cool… see you soon.”
I slung the laptop bag over my shoulder, bounded down the stairs, two steps at a time, slammed the door of my two-bedroom townhouse and bolted to my car. On the way, I ran the red light at four intersections and, as I turned on to her street, I couldn’t remember if I had turned off the stove.And this is the real reason why you shouldn’t eat rice at night.
I’ll skip the boring part where we greeted each other.
For three hours she complained about this jerk (her words, not mine), digging up every bad experience she could remember. With our eyes locked while she vented, I slowly nodded my head, speaking only when she gotreallyworked up:
“That’s unbelievable, I can’t believe he went for drinks to catch up with his college girlfriend.”
“Wow, it’s crazy that he’s racked up over US$10,000.00 in credit card debt.”
“Seriously? There’s no way he forgot to get you a birthday gift on your actual birthday.”
The more she went on and on about this asshole (again, her choice of word, not mine), I couldn’t help but wonder if we were going to fuck tonight. Maybe this time I had read the whole situation wrong. I questioned myself as she yawned — the yawn almost swallowing the room — right in the middle of explaininghow he took his attractive ‘work wife’ to dinner at a high-end restaurant. Speaking of dinner, I also couldn’t help but wonder if I had left the stove on.
And then at 12:03am, she closed the two-metre gap between us and straddled me. I kissed her with such passion, it was like finally getting to devour a well-needed cup of hot chocolate after a long commute from work in the snow. Sure, we went further, but I don’t kiss and tell. I’m a gentleman.As you’ve figured out by now.
For full disclosure, I’ve never seen snow before. But that’s how I imagine I would feel if I had to walk home in it.
Anyhow, it goes without saying, I forgot about the pot of rice on the stove. Plus, it’s not my fault if my neighbours are not up to date with their homeowners insurance policies or my landlord for that matter.
Less than eight minutes left to go. I am in a bind.What to do?
In a last-ditch effort, I whisper, “Matthew” to the financial controller, the closest person to me in the room. He twists in his chair, turning his attention away from Terri who is presenting on risk and compliance — nobody really cares about her SWOT analysis — and looks in my direction. With both hands raised off the chair’s adjustable arms, he mouths, “What?”
Pointing to his laptop, I start to mimic typing on a keyboard with my fingers. This punk acts all confused, as if my request isn’t obvious. So, I look him directly in the face and sloooooowly … barely even audible, say, “Give. Me. The. Fucking. Laptop.” My intention is for him to be the only person to hear, however, it seems as if our colleague Melissa had heard because she rolled her eyes. That’s funny, I wonder if she had rolled her eyes when she slid into my DM a few nights ago, commenting on my shirtless picture at the beach.
“You need to put on some clothes. Show off. lol.”
Come to think of it, I don’t think I had responded.Awkward.Melissa has nice tits, but that’s really all she has going on.Sorry—no can do.
