Page 21 of King of Players

But why?

At the dinner hosted by one of my director friends, we finished eating and started gathering around the pool with drinks. The women took off their clothes, revealing skimpy bikinis underneath, while the men showed off the latest trends in colorful swimming trunks. A sip here, a splash in the water there—it was starting to be more and more fun. That was when Halina, a Dutch model and a friend of mine, made her appearance in a breathtaking golden bikini.

After greeting everyone, Halina descended into the pool, choosing the steps next to where I was standing. “So, if I don’t call, you never will,” she shot me a berating, yet forgiving look with a coy smile.

“I’m sorry, baby.” I swam closer, extending my arms over the water and grabbing her shoulders. As we rotated and twirled, I asked. “How’ve you been?”

“I had a very successful campaign with the Mallory Boutique, since you asked.”

“That’s fantastic.” My hands toyed with her wet, blonde locks, while my eyes drank in the sheen of her wet lips. “How come you didn’t eat with us earlier?”

Frowning, she rolled her eyes. “I had to have dinner with my family. They’re visiting, and I couldn’t get out of it.”

“That must’ve been fun.”

“You know it.” She tittered. “And just so you know, I popped something half an hour ago.”

Knowing full well what that meant, I chuckled, shaking my head in fake disapproval before dipping downward. As the water engulfed me, I opened my eyes and took a mental snapshot of what Halina’s perfect body looked like, distorted yet alluring in an illuminated blue haze.

Something was about to happen, and if I was to take Dakota’s advice, I had better let it.

Half a drink later, Halina’s laughter had grown louder and her movements more flamboyant, so we excused ourselves and went inside. Upstairs, giggling and pretending to sneak about, we searched for a room to inspire us. As soon as we found one, however, Halina rushed in, practically kicking open the bathroom door and kneeling in front of the toilet.

Slowly approaching, I stopped at the doorway and whispered, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” She waved both hands behind her head, as if to urge me to leave. “Don’t come in. This is gross.”

“I thought this didn’t happen to you with pills.”

“It’s not the pill.” She sighed, letting gravity pull down her weight, sitting her down on the tile. “It’s my grandma’s stupid, stupid cooking. She insisted on making ‘erwtensoep’, and my stomach must have forgotten what that was like.”

At that moment, I knew that nothing was going to happen with Halina tonight. I might have seen thousands of women throw up in my lifetime; but not a single incident of those had been followed by anything sexy. Yes, perhaps I was an asshole at that. But what could I do?

The mood was dead.

Instead of making out, Halina and I spent the night with bottles of water and a bowl of crackers. And in place of sex, we tried to bond in a different way as she talked to me about her father and his controlling mother. I felt like a therapist conducting an endless session for free. But the best part about it—and I had to excuse my brain for even thinking it—I didn’t have to feel guilty about sleeping with Halina while my head was with another woman entirely.

When she finally fell asleep, I wondered if I could fall asleep next to her. I tried for maybe an hour, to no avail. Finally, I decided to let Halina rest and go back to the party downstairs.

As expected, most people had retired to the bedrooms, and my friend the host and another buddy of ours were sitting by the pool, shooting the breeze with half a bottle of whiskey.

When they saw me, they both laughed, wondering if Halina had finally realized that I wasn’t ‘a good lay after all’.

I grabbed a glass, tossed in a couple of ice cubes, and joined them on the floor. And the night turned into day in the lightness of good company.

nine

Deeper into My Mind

Kaira

Who could I possibly talk to? My ability to maintain my privacy had once been a source of pride; it was now nothing but a chest-tightening burden. I wished I had the ability to just call up a girlfriend, take her out for drinks, and vent away about the deadlock in my mind.

I simply wasn’t capable of doing that like a normal person. Whatever ‘normal’ meant. But once I had been naked with a man, that was who I talked to whenever my feelings or thoughts about him became too tangled. Only trouble was; Chad wasn’t a boyfriend, and what happened with him was in no way an ordinary occurrence in my life.

Everything about yesterday haunted me like a dark cloud, hovering over my head as I tried to perform the simplest of tasks. At the office, I made sure that Chad couldn’t reach me, as if things could have gotten any worse if he had. I powered through the morning with the aid of coffee, energy drinks, and a lot of mindful breathing. Too much mindful breathing. When it was time for lunch, however, I barely stopped myself before asking my assistant a leading question regarding her personal experience with casual sex.

‘Casual sex’, what an alien concept that I never managed to comprehend. How could people simply entrust a complete stranger with the most private, vulnerable aspects of themselves? How did the soul-baring intimacy of lovemaking turn into a spur-of-the-moment activity that carried nearly no weight at all?

---