“Ah . . . fuck. And an email to who?”
“To everyone.”
“You know, I really think we shouldn’t do the email thing. That seems like a bad idea.”
“It seems like a great one to me.”
“Because you’re drunk,” Breaker says. “Spending fifty grand on pigeons seems like a good idea to you.”
“It was only twenty grand altogether. Fuck, should it have been fifty?”
“That’s not the point. I think you should just calm down, take a deep breath and, JP, if you really like her, I think you should try to date her.”
“And how do you suppose I go about doing that?”
“I have some ideas, but I don’t think saying them right now is going to help you. Not sure you’ll retain anything. I’m going to text you, and you can read it in the morning, when your mind is . . . fresh.”
“I’m fresh as fuck right now.”
“It’s cute that you think that. Listen, don’t email anybody right now. That’s a bad idea. Maybe cap that bottle you’re drinking from, go get some food, and park it in your room for the rest of the night. You don’t want to say or do something stupid. If you really like Kelsey, then let me help you figure out a way to show that.”
“Think a pigeon will carry a note to her?”
“Great possibility, man.”
I sigh again. “Okay.”
“Okay? So, you’re going to go get some food, and we’ll talk in the morning.”
“Yeah.”
“And no emailing.”
“Right, no emailing.”
“Good. And hey, not sure I said this, but good job being a voice for the pigeons, man. You’re doing God’s work.”
I clutch my chest. “Thank you, that means a lot to me.”
After some goodbyes, I hang up feeling marginally better. I saved the polar bears and the pigeons and I’m going to win Kelsey. What a productive afternoon.
Pleased with myself, I cap the Scotch bottle like Breaker said, pick up my empty glass, and head toward the kitchen. Just then, I hear the door open, and I pause in the hallway, holding my breath.
She’s home.
Do I want her to see me like this?
Probably not.
I know I told Breaker I wasn’t drunk, but let’s call a spade a spade—I’m fucking sitting pretty right now, and I don’t need to mess up anything with Kelsey because Scotch has been my mistress this afternoon. So, I spin on my heel and head for my bedroom, but I stop when I hear a male voice.
I quickly turn back around. No fucking way did she bring him back here.
I slide along the wall, hoping to stay undetected as I attempt to eavesdrop on a conversation I’ve no right listening to.
I grow closer and closer. Then I hear Kelsey.
“Thank you so much for walking me up here. You really didn’t have to.”
Yeah, you didn’t have to, fucker. She’s more than capable, she’s done it many times already.
“I just felt bad, the way I left you last time.”
Because you’re a moron.
“Well, thank you. I had a nice time,” Kelsey says in her sweet voice, and I swear if I hear them kiss, I’ll fucking melt into a puddle of despair right here.
“Me too.”
I hold my breath.
I wait for the telltale sound of two mouths colliding.
I’m tempted to whip around the corner and watch desperately as they say goodbye.
“I’ll call you,” Derek finally says, and I can’t tell if they kissed, hugged, or shook hands again, but it’s nearly killing me.
“Okay, sounds good. Have a good rest of your day.”
The door shuts, and I stand there against the wall, unmoving as I attempt to tell myself to move, to get out of here, to not look like a peeping Tom. But the unknown of whether or not they kissed is keeping me in place, my mind reeling. What is she feeling right now?
“JP?” she asks, looking down the hallway at me plastered against the wall, tumbler in one hand, Scotch in the other. “What are you doing?”
Errrr . . .
What am I doing?
Well, honest truth—trying to decide if I need to finish this bottle based on if he kissed you or not.
But that doesn’t seem like a safe answer. Even in my drunken state, I know that’s not a safe answer, so I go with the second-best thing . . .
“Smelling.”
“Smelling?” she asks, her face tightening in confusion. “What are you smelling?”
“The wall,” I answer, and then to my horror, I spin around, plant my nose right on the wall, and take a big old whiff.