I just point at the bottle of scotch, now three-quarters empty.
He whistles low. “Ah, only that? That’s not bad. Thought you’d be naked or something.”
I glance at him, and he’s a little fuzzy around the edges. “She’s gone,” I croak. “Back to England. She left me.”
Will drops onto the couch beside me. “What’d you do? Show her your tiny peen?”
I don’t even flinch. Just reach for the bottle again.
“No, no,” he says, swatting my hand away. “Rookie mistake. Let’s get dead drunk the right way. Start with five wings. Trust me—it soaks up the sadness.”
I don’t have the energy to argue. I just pick one up and take a bite. It’s hot, spicy, and it burns. It feels real.
“She said she can’t love me. That I’m not… me.”
Will raises an eyebrow, chewing slowly. “Did sheactuallysay that?”
I shake my head, the words catching. “She said I can’t love her. That what I loved was the version of her from last night. The dress. The makeup. That it was all fake—plastic and artifice.”
He snorts. “Well… it was. But it was good plastic. High-end artifice. That’s half the fun.”
His phone buzzes on the table, the screen lighting up. He glances at it, then ignores it with a sigh.
“Come on, jackass,” he mutters, nudging the tray toward me. “One more wing. Misery loves sodium.”
I reach for another, more out of reflex than anything. My chest still aches like someone split it open and left me to bleed, and I don’t know how to glue any of it back together.
His phone lights up again.
I glance at the screen. “Why is Mariana calling you?”
He doesn’t even flinch. “I was at her place. Dick deep.”
I groan. “Then why the hell are you here? Why’d you even look at your phone?”
He shrugs casually. “Because it was you. And you needed me. You’ve always shown up for me.”
That hits harder than it should. I swallow past the lump forming in my throat.
“Man, I?—”
“Don’t whine. Eat.”
I manage a hollow laugh and shake my head. “Something happened. I don’t know where I fucked up… or if I even did.”
The phone rings again. Will sighs like a man going to war. “Let me just answer this. She’s stage-five clingy when she doesn’t get her orgasm.”
Hepops open two beers, hands one to me, and hits speaker.
I lean back, my eyes closed, bracing.
“Mariana,” he says, flat.
“When are you coming back?” Her voice is sultry and impatient. “I’m getting cold and lonely.”
“I’m not. Use the toy I bought you for Christmas. Jake needs me.”
There’s a pause, then a low laugh. “She’s gone, isn’t she?”
