I mean, I remember my Dad started out by writing smut and selling it online. That grew. He didn’t stop. Sure, he was sexual. I mean, I still remember the day outside Starbucks. I was just about to talk to some random gorgeous girl—what little of her that I remember reminds me of Ashley—when I saw him with his two new girlfriends.
I remember we fucking fought. That was the last time I saw my Dad. I traveled and stayed busy for the two months after that. And he died.
Because I was too proud to realize that Dad was making people happy.
We’re all fucking lonely. And some of us are lucky to have that one person or group of people who complete us. Who make us realize that someone out of 6 billion people cares whether we’re alive or dead. It’s a basic foundation of being a fucking human.
And that’s why we crave it. We read about it. We watch movies about it. We join Facebook to connect. Because as human beings, we want to connect on a deeper level than anything else.
Dad was providing one avenue for it. Sex.
Sure, there’s other ways. But I never realized how important that connection was because; up till Ashley I’ve been one of the most disconnected motherfuckers on the planet.
All of a sudden I have to go.
"Where are you going?" Sarah asks.
"Gotta get something done, babe," I say, drawn into the conversation. “I need to see about a girl.”
"Can I come with you?" she asks.
And there it goes. Boom. Why would I take you home with me when I’m going to go look after a girl? After just meeting you? What kind of fucked up alternate reality are you living in?
"No," I say, basically figuring a question like that only deserves a one word answer.
"Can I?" Deb asks, her face lighting up.
What the fuck? She thinks because I didn't take her friend, she now has a better chance?
I sigh and take a large drink of my scotch.
"Do you want to fuck me?" she asks me, batting her eyelashes.
At least Dee is a bit more reserved. She just brings her fist to her mouth and makes a blowjob motion, then smiles at me.
I know what you're going to say to me, okay? Not every girl is like this. There's some with great personalities. I know what you're going to say. Three months ago I would have told you that you were just trying to be nice.
But now, knowing what I know, I agree with you. Because I’ve met the girl for me.
And I’d rather fucking die than give up on her and let her go without even trying.
“Goodbye, ladies,” I say and within seconds I’ve walked out of the club.
Twenty minutes later, I meet Gerard at his house.
“Gerard,” I say, giving him a piece of paper that I hastily scrawled a note on in the back of the limo. “Can you make sure Ashley gets this letter?”
Gerard looks at me. It’s obvious he just woke up. I’m at his front door in the hallway on the 17th floor of his condo.
“You wrote a letter?” Gerard asks me. “By hand?”
I shrug. “She won’t take my calls or texts and won’t answer emails. And she won’t see me, so you know, next best thing is to pass a note.”
“Very well, sir,” Gerard says. “I know just how to get it delivered to Miss Ashley.”
I thank Gerard and walk to the elevator and then out the building.
Sure, it’s a shot in the dark. But somehow, I’m feeling good about this shot in the dark.
Now the ball is in her court. Let’s see how she plays.
61
Ashley
I won't lie when I say that I’m not surprised when the doorbell rings that Saturday morning. Would you believe me if I told you that I’ve been looking forward to but dreading this moment ever since I thought there was a chance that Arsen might show up.
I’m pretty sure he will show up. I mean most guys can’t hold out that long. And they break down and go show up, even if they say they’re not going to. That’s just the power that women have over them. Remember Peter? You remember, my ex-boyfriend who was cheating on me? Roughly 60,000 words ago? I didn’t answer his texts for a several days and what did he end up doing? Stalking me and attacking me outside the Simulated Pleasures office.
Now I don't think Arsen is going to attack me or anything. He may be a bad boy, and may be too tough and cocky and arrogant for his own good, and he may have lied to me in the most horrible way possible, but I somehow still know that underneath that tortured exterior is a good man. A solid man.
See what I mean now about looking forward to while dreading this moment at the same time?
The bell rings again and I go to the door. I’m dressed to kill, with a white short skirt that I know hugs my ass, a black silk t-shirt that accentuates my curves very nicely, beautiful pearl earrings, and white heels.