“What? Ah, nah, I’m good,” I say in the most even-toned voice I can muster.
“Okay.” Huxley eyes me. “Text me if you need anything.”
“So excited for you two,” Kelsey says before we all say bye and she disconnects the call. I’m prepared for her to run off and read her text messages, but instead, she turns toward me and asks, “What did Huxley mean when he said you took care of Regis?”
Of course she’d remember that.
I stand from the couch and say, “Nothing to worry about.”
“I am worried,” she says, standing as well. “Clearly, it had something to do with me. What was it?”
“He was just being a dick and I set him straight, is all. It’s not a big deal so don’t make it one.”
“You saw him at the ball last night?”
I exhale sharply and go to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water. “Yes, I saw him there last night. Addressed the issue and moved on.”
“What was the issue?”
“Jesus, Kelsey, I said it wasn’t a big deal, so just drop it.”
She winces from my strong tone. “Okay, I just . . . I don’t know. I thought if I understand what’s going on, maybe I can do better.”
“You don’t need to do better. I told you, you’re perfect. Regis was the one who needed to do better.” I chug my water and set down the glass before working my way back to the hallway that leads to my room.
“Where are you going?”
“To my room,” I say.
“You seem angry again.”
Not angry.
I’m hurt.
Disappointed.
Aching for a chance I know I won’t get.
“We just don’t need to talk about it, okay?”
“Okay,” she says, twisting her hands in front of her. “What are you doing today?”
“Not sure,” I answer. “But it seems like you have plans.”
“Yeah, I guess you saw those messages.” She moves her foot in front of her. “What do you think I should do?”
Not come to me for dating advice, that’s for damn sure.
“I thought we had a good time, but I felt really let down by him last night. I don’t know.”
“Seems like you have a choice to make, then,” I say.
“But what if it’s not the right choice?” she calls out.
“I’m sure it’ll be a better choice than the one you made last night,” I answer before shutting the door to my room and flopping onto my bed.
Hollow.
That’s how I feel, absolutely hollow.
For a brief moment last night, when Kelsey’s eyes were on me and she was coming, and then earlier when I had her in my arms, everything felt right. I felt right. Ready. But now, lying here alone on my bed, knowing that once again what I had with her was a brief intermission during her quest to find Mr. Right, I just feel . . . hollow.
“Dude, how many drinks have you had?” Breaker asks.
“Not enough,” I answer as I tip back another glass of Scotch.
When I caught sight of Kelsey dressed in a light blue sundress, hair and makeup all done, her decision was clear—she was giving Derek another shot, and this time, he’ll fucking kiss her. So, I went to my phone, asked the concierge to bring up a bottle of Scotch and some of those fancy balls of ice, and that’s what I’ve been doing ever since she left.
Drinking.
In my shorts.
I showered because I didn’t want to sit in my filth all day, but I did nothing with my hair. I’ve spent the day so far drinking and watching Planet Earth documentaries, letting David Attenborough soothe my massacred soul.
If you’re wondering if it’s worked . . .
It has not.
But at least I haven’t been entirely alone.
Nope, Scotch and the threat of polar bears losing their homes has lived with me through this moment.
That, and my thousands of text messages to Breaker about how we need to do more for the polar bears, which resulted in me donating to the World Wildlife Fund, earmarked to Save the Polar Bear, which of course made me feel guilty that I was cheating on the pigeons. So, I ended up donating another ten thousand to the pigeons.
After I sent him five pictures of pigeons that need to be fostered or adopted, he called me.
“And what’s with the pigeon pictures? Should I be worried? Those things shit all over the place, so do you really want to adopt one?”
“You shit all over the place,” I say. “Don’t talk about the pigeons like that. There are thousands of pigeons being euthanized because no one wants to adopt them. No one wants to take care of their vet bills. Everyone wants to be the person who saves the cute kitten with one eye, the dog in a wheelchair, or the rabbit with no teeth. But what about the flightless pigeons? For fuck’s sake, who’s taking care of them?”