Page 24 of Fun Together
He laughs. “Yeah, maybe I’ll see you there.” He holds up his coffee. “Thanks for your help. I should probably get back to my desk.”
“No problem.”
I text Rett back:Low’s sounds good.
9
Faye
Another day,another regrettable beverage choice.
The tequila fights a path down my throat, into the pit of my empty stomach.I wonder how my capillary friends are faring in these conditions. I bet they’re hanging over the side of the raft, helmets askew, wondering why I thought it was a good idea to eat nothing but Cheez-Its for dinner.
“I’m going to hate myself for this later,” I say, willing myself not to gag. I hate myself for thisnow.
Rett slams her shot glass down on the bar with dramatic flourish. “It’s all part of the process.” Then, to the bartender, “Two more, please.”
“Oh no,” I grumble.
I’m a lightweight on a good day, and it’s been a very long time since I’ve had a night out drinking. At this rate, my head will be in the toilet in less than two hours. “Living on a Prayer” is blasting so loud I can’t even hear myself think. Poetic.
“I just smell it in the air. It’s going to be a great night for us.”
The only thing I smell in the air is professional-grade disinfectant with a faint hint of urine. The bartender sets the shots down in front of us and Rett raises her glass. “To Fun Faye!”
This shot goes down a little easier, meaning I don’t heave this time.
“How about Fatigued Faye?”
“This isn’t going to work if you resist. What’s wrong?”
I spread my arms wide to gesture at our surroundings. “There’s a man humping a pinball machine over there. Something isverywrong.”
“Nope. Talk to me.”
My instinct is to do anything but talk about the thoughts swirling around my brain. Thoughts that I’d much prefer to have alone in the comfort of my own home that I can easily push aside, because no one is sitting in front of me, bluntly asking the question:What’s wrong?
But when I look at Rett, sitting there so strong and sure of herself, despite the bit of swaying she’s doing on her stool, I think that maybe I do want to tell her what’s on my mind.
“I used the vibrator,” I blurt out.
“Good!” she says, excited. Then she must register that I don’t look excited. “I mean . . . bad?”
“No, it wasn’t bad. In fact, it was good. It was really good.”
“What’s the problem, then?”
“I sort of fantasized about someone . . . unexpected.”
She shrugs. “That’s totally normal. Was it an older man?”
I shake my head.
“Older woman?”
I shake my head.
“Was it an—” she mouths the word, “Alien?”
