Page 5 of The Close-Up
He was the guy we all wished our college boyfriends were more like. He was the guy our boyfriends crudely dubbed as the “pussy whisperer” because of how easily and often he could bring his partner to climax.
Those four words became his trademark. He’d make a woman screech to high heaven in record time, and she’d always giggle an apology for being loud or making a mess on his face. Every single time he’d say, “Don’t fret about it,” like an unofficial catchphrase.
That popular cam guy? Simon Rutler—the same Simon standing in front of me, holding my arm, tensing under my palm, about to flirt my skirt off.
My heart thunders, transporting me back to the present. I blink through the dim lighting of the bar. This is the cam guy I pleasured myself to countless times during college. And I just made an absolute fool of myself in front of him.
“Oh my...shit.”
I just drunkenly threw myself at the pussy whisperer.
I stare at him, my jaw hanging in the air, as if I just watched the Loch Ness monster trot through the bar.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
My lips purse as I almost call him the nickname, but I catch myself. I remember reading on some blog way back in the day that he hates that nickname. Saying it right now would undoubtedly piss him off, which would make this mortifying moment even worse.
Just then my stomach seizes. Of embarrassment? No, wait. That’s the bourbon.
I grip the metal bar just below the bar top as my stomach lurches once more.
“Sorry, I’m...gonna be...”
I don’t get to the word “sick” because hot bile shoots up my throat and out of my mouth, landing on his shoes. There’s no time for apologies, though. I need to make it to the nearest toilet before I turn this entire bar into a biohazard by upchucking the contents of my stomach. I press a hand to my chest, as if that’s going to somehow keep me from vomiting everywhere.
I burst through the door, ignoring Simon calling behind me as I dart to the nearest toilet and spew into the grimy bowl. My eyes burn with tears as I gag and purge. Seconds later, the putrid smell of hard alcohol mixed with the gyro I had for dinner hits my nostrils. I jolt back, crashing into a pair of legs.
“Naomi?” I register Harper’s voice from above. “Holy crap...are you...are you okay?”
There’s not a word that exists in the English language that fully captures this feeling of next-level humiliation. Of unknowingly hitting on my college fantasy while intoxicated, then vomiting on him.
Wiping my mouth on my sleeve, I heave a breath. “Nope. I’m definitely not okay.”
Chapter Two
The sound of my phone buzzing with a text is the worst sound in the world. Probably because I’m hungover.
Perched at my desk in my office in the Tenderloin district, I glance at the screen.
Harper: How are you holding up?
I rub my temples with my fingertips, willing my throbbing headache to ease. I take a long moment to close my eyes, breathe deeply, and will myself not to vomit all over my desk. Once my stomach is settled, I open my eyes and quickly type a response.
Me: How do you think I’m holding up? You fed me drinks the whole night, then I chatted up the cam guy I crushed on in college, then I vomited on him. I’m feeling pretty freaking embarrassed. I also feel like death warmed over.
For the briefest moment, I contemplate texting Simon an apology for how I acted last night. But what in the world could I say to him that would make things better? I’m sure as hell never going to see him again after the horrific display I put on last night. Best to forget about it and move on.
Harper texts back a string of laughing emojis. From anyone else, I’d be raging, but since they’re from Harper, all I do is sigh. She’s the queen of giving people a hard time when they’re whining, and it would feel weird if she weren’t.
Harper: At least you’re not thinking of Brody, right?
She’s right. Not once has Brody popped into my mind, even though on paper he should be the only thing I’m thinking about, given it’s been less than twenty-four hours since we broke up.
No commentis all I text back to her.
She sends a winky emoji before reminding me to drink loads of water and eat something greasy.
I’m chugging water just as my boss, Fiona, stops at my open door.
