Page 11 of One Night in Glasgow
My voice trailed off as I tried to step into my trousers and nearly pitched over. I stuck a hand out to brace myself against the wall, the smooth fabric stubbornly caught around my damp leg.
Danny watched me with amusement. “Whoa, easy there, Baryshnikov. For a guy who tells people how to achieveperfect balance in their lives, you seem to be losing your battle with a simple pair of pants.”
“I’m not… struggling,” I grunted, hopping on one foot as I finally yanked the trousers up. “I’m hungover. And we need to be sharp today, so…” I started on my shirt, fumbling the first two buttons before realizing it was inside out. “Shit.”
“Yeah, about being sharp,” Danny said, his tone suddenly shifting from mockery to something more serious. “We might have a problem.”
I froze mid-hop, one sock halfway on, my arms tangled in my inside-out shirt. I must have looked like a complete idiot. “What kind of problem?”
Finally getting my shirt on the right way, I finished dressing with a new sense of urgency and stalked over to the couch, my heart beginning to hammer against my ribs.
Danny held out his phone without a word. “This kind.”
I took it, my stomach dropping as I saw the headline: “AMERICAN MOTIVATIONAL SPEAKER’S WILD NIGHT OUT IN GLASGOW.”
“What the fuck?” I muttered, pressing play on the video.
It was grainy, clearly shot on someone’s phone, but there was no mistaking me stumbling out of the pub with Beth. Her face was obscured by those ridiculous sunglasses and scarf, but mine was on full display as I pulled her close, both of us laughing like idiots.
“Shit,” I hissed as I handed the phone back to Danny, my phone buzzing in my pocket with notifications. I pulled it out. My social media mentions were a dumpster fire. Memes were already popping up: my face with the caption,“Find someone who looks at you the way this motivational speaker looks at his one-night stand.”Underneath, the comments were a cesspool of judgment and speculation. My stomach churned.
For a split second, the screen in my hand blurred, the hotel room dissolving around me.
I’m not in Glasgow. I’m back in my dorm room at Berkeley, sophomore year. The air is stale with the smell of old pizza and unwashed laundry. Olivia is sitting on my lumpy futon, her knees pulled to her chest. She’s holding her phone out to me, her hand trembling so badly the screen is hard to read. But I see it. A photo of her, her face crudely photoshopped onto a porn star’s body. Below it, a flood of comments, each one a digital dagger.
“Look,” she whispered, her voice raw. “Look what they’re doing to me, Sean.”
The image was grotesque, but it was the look in her eyes that I remembered. A shattered, hollowed-out look of such profound humiliation that it felt like I was staring into a void. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what to do. I just stood there, helpless.
“Sean? Hey, Sean!”
Danny’s voice snapped me back to the present. I shook my head, the memory receding like a phantom limb, leaving behind a cold ache.
“Fuck,” I hissed, running a hand through my damp hair. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is exactly what I didn’t need right now.”
I’ve got that big charity gig coming up, and now I look like some drunken asshole?—”
“Hey, hey, calm down,” Danny cut in, standing up to block my path. “It’s not that bad. So, you had a night out. Big deal. You’re single, you’re allowed to have fun.”
I shook my head. “That’s not the point. I’ve spent years building my image, Danny. The responsible guy, the one who has his shit together.”
Danny raised his brow. “Isn’t that kind of the problem?You’re so focused on being perfect that you never let loose. Maybe this is a good thing. Shows you’re human.”
I snorted. “Yeah, I’m sure the charity for homeless kids will love that their keynote speaker is a drunken mess.”
“Listen…,” Danny said, his voice taking on that tone he used when he was about to fix everything. “We can spin this. You were out experiencing the local culture. Networking, even. Hell, for all we know, that woman could’ve been a potential donor.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, right? I didn’t even get her last name, Danny. And for all I know, Beth is probably not even her real name, anyway.”
Danny’s eyes widened. “Wait, seriously? You have no clue who she is?”
I shook my head, feeling like an idiot. “She said she was some kind of high society…whatever, but who knows if that was true. Could’ve been anyone.”
Danny whistled low. “Well, that complicates things. But hey, maybe it’s for the best. Less chance of her coming forward with some scandalous story.”
I collapsed onto the couch. “Let’s hope so.”
Danny stood up, straightening his rumpled shirt. “Trust me, it’ll be fine. Now, get your shoes on. We’ve got a seminar to crush.”
