Page 33 of Date and Switch

I shrugged, unable to reign in my mirth, “You’re the one that fell for it.”

“Zero points for originality Earl Ellis. That was like a bad dad joke, and a dumb pull my leg joke wrapped into one.”

“I think I know what you need.”

I’d been dicking around on the iPad swearing at our internet service for being so fucking slow when she stepped into our bedroom totally nude. Her hair was wrapped in a towel, but she hadn’t bothered with a robe. Somewhere in the progression of our vacation she morphed from covering up every inch of skin and hiding in the bathroom to get ready every day, to nudity without a stitch of self-consciousness. It was hot, and I had a front row seat. Watching her breasts raise slightly while she tied the towel around her head, distracted me from whatever she said next.

“For you to come over here and sit on my face.”

Sera had been mid thought and about to continue on with whatever cute as hell thing she was about to say. I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed someone seemingly fall over themselves to stop, reverse, and replay a conversation. Watching her face morph from matter of fact, to confusion, to surprise, and then shock was a theater of comedy I’d pay money to see again.

“Sure so I can end up in some cruise ship version of Brokedown Palace for suffocating you to death? That sounds swell. Anyhow, as I was saying.”

“As I was saying, there’s a reason that your pussy is my heaven, angel. It’ll be the death of me. And what a hero’s death it will be.”

She blushed, and shook her head, reaching for her damn robe to hide herself from me. I wondered, off hand, why she felt she needed to cover up. A conversation for another time.

“Can I continue now?” She popped her hip out, hand braced against it, and a sassy little scowl telling me not to challenge her. It didn’t matter if I said yes or no anyway, she kept going as if I’d cleared a runway for the 747 of conversations to occur.

“Hear me out before you say no.”

That was never a good way to start a conversation.

“You need to mourn to Sarah. You never really got a chance to stop and sit on a couch, watching Beaches or The Notebook and just cry your eyes out.”

“Sera, I can count on my hand the number of times that I’ve cried. I’m not a crier.”

“I mean…” She flung her hands in the air in frustration as if I’d just told her we don’t need oxygen to breathe. “We need to find your Beaches moment.”

“Sera I’m not going to break down and cry. I guarantee it.”

“You’re missing the point.” She stomped her barefoot on the carpet, the muffled sound did not provide the desired effect given her scowl. “I’m taking you out tonight. On me. Not on the Ellis blue-blood trust funds. We’re going upstairs to the piano lounge and we’re gonna get hammered.”

twenty-two

Taking Bryce drinking may have been the greatest idea in vacation ideas. The piano bar was situated on the other side of the steakhouse and casino. Given how empty the bar had been each time we’d visited, I’d say it was somewhere most didn’t realize existed. Hence, it was also the perfect place to bring Bryce so he could exorcise the demon named Sarah Miller.

“Okay.” I pushed the shot glass of Herradura Seleccion toward Bryce. “With every shot you just lay it all out. No comment is too minor, nothing is out of bounds. Whatever you think, you say it and take a shot.”

The bartender continued to give me serious side eye. He’d told me four times already that Herradura was a sipping tequila. But Bryce refused to use the cheap shit even if he would be puking it up in a few hours.

“We never had birthday cake.”

I would have never expected that as his first shot off the bow but who was I to judge?

“I thought you didn’t like celebrating your birthday? That it’s just another day.”

“For strangers. People at work. I don’t want people to feel obligated to celebrate. But her? Someone I shared my life with? It should have been different. That should be a celebration. Something that says hey we survived another year. Let’s celebrate that, together.”

Bryce looked so innocently boyish. He didn’t bother to style his hair, so it was curly and wild on top of his head. He’d thrown on a pair of jeans and a Dead Kennedys T-shirt. Two items of clothing I would have never expected Hotelier Ken to have in his wardrobe.

“Fuck never having cake.” I clinked his glass and downed my shot on a hiss. “Cake is the best invention on earth. Like my birthday cake was. That was a delicious cake.”

“It was a really good cake,” he agreed, signaling for another shot.

“She said I wasn’t spontaneous. Or fun.”

“I disagree.” I poured us another shot. “I’ve had a lot of fun with you.”

---