Again with the eye roll. “Yes, Whit, I am. Forgive me for not wanting to fall behind.”
“Ok, but do you want to grab dinner? The buffet’s decent, and—”
“No, Whit. We can’t.”
“We can’t have dinner together? I’m pretty sure I can take you to a buffet without ripping your clothes off,” I tell Lucy, although, honestly, that might be a lie.
“It’s…it’s better this way, ok?” she says. “Besides, I need to study. I’ll have something brought to my room later.”
And just like that, I’m dismissed. Awesome.
I take a left and follow a path until I see a tiki bar. Two minutes later, I’m drinking a Mai Tai and scrolling through my phone.
Whit:Fuck you all.
Booker:Happy Thanksgiving to you, too.
Ty: Everything ok?
Knox:What crawled up your ass? And you have no room to bitch. I volunteered to crash that wedding, and you turned me down flat.
Whit: Wedding was fine. Lucy looked gorgeous, and I can’t do a damn thing about it. I’m drinking alone.
Whit: So, like I said, Fuck. You. All.
Knox:Again, quit your bitching. I said I’d be your plus one.
Whit:I should have taken you up on it.
Booker:It’s probably for the best that you didn’t. You two unsupervised at an island resort? That’s asking for trouble.
Knox:But I love trouble.
Ty: So, yeah, Phoebe and I did have a lovely Thanksgiving. Thanks for asking. And no, her mom didn’t kick me out.
Whit: Dude, you are literally the only person who thought that would go badly. She loves you, so her mom and that Sam guy are gonna love you, too.
Booker: He’s right. And none of what happened had anything to do with you.
Knox: Love catching up and all, but I’m heading out. Staring at these walls is driving me crazy. I’m not staying home alone next year. It’s boring as shit.
Whit: Aw...he misses us.
Knox: Won’t last long. In an hour or two, I’ll be at Wolfie’s getting my dick sucked in a bathroom stall. And trust me, I won’t be missing you three then.
Booker: Where did we go wrong raising him?
Ty: He was feral when we got him.
Whit: Truth.
The bartender hands me another drink and I sign off the chat. A group of women about my age troops into the little tiki-hut, clearly here for a good time. They’re wearing bikinis and sarongs and carrying drinks into the bar. Those are typically my kind of people. But I’m just not feeling it.
I’m not feeling anything but the buzz of alcohol and the sting of Lucy’s rejection.
* * *
Lucy
