Page 97 of The Plus Ones
Shittywill have to suffice.
Confused.
Lovesick.
I just refuse to add another thing to that list:dumped.
I get into bed, punch the pillow, and settle in for a long, sleepless night. No use even trying to stay awake if I can’t see or talk to Roxy. I’m not even in the mood to angrily jerk off to memories of Bikini Roxy or Shower Roxy—that’s how bad it is. I just missmyRoxy. I miss Ute.
After about ten minutes of lying here, stewing, I feel another new thing.
The weight of a dog jumping up onto the bed.
I might be imagining it, but I don’t want to move to look and risk startling him. I can hear Jackpot sniffing around, exploring the side of the bed that I’m not on. I can tell from the jingling of his collar tags that he’s circling in on the area by the pillow that Roxy usually sleeps on. Finally, he plops down with a little groan.
After he’s still for a few minutes, I slowly turn to get a look. Jackpot’s chin is resting on the pillow, and his back is to me, and I know this is all about him missing Roxy, but I count this as a win. Always one to push my luck, I reach over to stroke the fur on the back of his neck. He lets me. It’s the best thing that’s happened to me in the past few days. Closing a deal with a hot startup in Toronto was nothing compared to this.
I’m the king of the fucking world again, and tomorrow I’ll be bringing my queen back home for both of us.
26
Roxy
I’m looking around at twelve adorable, happy, hyper kids, and I’m exhausted, even though I’ll only have to be around them for a couple of hours.
This party is a monster bash. I’ve been here since this morning, helping Aimee decorate and hide cute little monster dolls around the living room area for a treasure hunt while Chase kept Finn busy at an early matinee. Now Finn has had his nap, and he’s done moping about his best friend’s absence. Matt and Bernadette and Vince and Nina are here with Harriet and Joni. Tiny party guests have been dropped off for the past fifteen minutes. The photo booth has been delivered and set up, the face painter lady is here, the balloon guy has arrived, but Keaton fucking Bridges is not in the building.
Figures.
It’s the first time I’ve everwantedto see him at one of these gatherings, and he doesn’t show up when he’s expected to.
I have been so impatiently waiting to talk to him in person and completely unable to risk chatting with him in any other way because I need this to come out just right.
I run to the kitchen to get a roll of paper towels when I spot a little girl who spilled her cup of fruit punch on the floor after a boy knocked her arm while pushing past her. She is looking around, not knowing what to do and trying so hard not to cry when I get to her. I kneel down on the floor and wipe up the little fuchsia-pink puddle.
“Hey, sweetie. I got this. Don’t worry.”
“I’m sorry. It was an accident.”
“I know. I saw what happened. It definitely wasn’t your fault.”
“Ethan should be the one who cleans it up.”
“You’re right. When you grow up, just remember that if a boy makes a mess and tries to clean it up himself, then he’s a boy worth hanging on to.”
She wrinkles her little nose. “I don’t want to hang on to a boy.”
“Or a girl. Or no one. You don’t have to hang on to anyone. Nobody does! But I tell you what—it’s not a sign of weakness if you do. Remember that.”
She looks at me like I’m weird, and I guess I am, and I don’t blame her for walking off.
When I stand up to throw the paper towels away, I see that Keaton has arrived and he’s placing a huge, professionally wrapped gift on the gift table while chatting with Chase and Matt and Vince.
He looks tired, and it makes him even more boyishly handsome than usual. Irresistible. To me, anyway. Like the grown-up version of the little boy who missed his nanny Reyna. The hesitant expression that settles on his face when we lock eyes rips my heart in two.
I can’t even move. I just stand here, watching him walk toward me. “Hi,” he says, putting his hand on my arm and leading me away from the living room area. “Can I talk to you alone for a second?”
“Yes.”
