Page 22 of Begin Again Again

Derek contorted his face into a look of rapt attention. “Then go on, mate. Talk me through it.”

“You gotta go in confident. Walk in with the bowler.”

“On her toes, away she goes?”

“That’s it.” Byron raised his Carlton can. “Tell her you’ll be the best fuck she’s ever had.”

Derek’s look of concentration hung by a thread. “Is… that the, uh… the full expression of the plan, bloke?”

“It sure is, bloke. Start as you mean to go on.”

Derek scratched his forehead. “I’m not, uh, dissin’ your strat there, bloke. But how are you thinking that’s gonna… fuckin’… get anyone… to do anything. Ever?”

Byron tucked his hands behind his head. “Power of positive thinking, my bloke.”

“Interesting.”

“Oh, it’s better than interesting. It’s science.”

Derek looked like he was about to laugh, but kept his face straight. “Science, you reckon?”

“Yup. If you can picture it, you can make it real. And that’s what the ladies want.”

Derek snorted. “A man with a really active imagination?”

“I’m not the one doing the imagining, bloke. I plant the seed and then she’s imagining it and then it’s gonna happen. I’ll be the best fuck she’s ever had.”

“That’s a… pretty bold claim.”

“I’m nothing if not a bold man.”

“I mean, that’s hard to deny, bloke.”

He saluted Derek with his beer. “Take it or leave it, bloke, but believe me—say you’ll be the best, you will be. It works.”

And the line had worked, stupidly, miraculously. It had helped him get girls into bed right up to and including Audrey. And then, last night he’d got pissed enough to pull the stupid line on Beth and end up delivering nothing.

It was tempting to lie there in misery, but he ached and he needed to piss. Byron rolled himself out of bed, grabbing his phone and collecting his AirPods from his desk. The music clicked from his speakers to his ears as he opened the Spotify app. It had predicted the playlist he wanted. Debussy’s gentle piano strokes filled his ears, raining lightly on his hangover. Music without memories, only sound. He staggered to the bathroom, pissed, then headed to the medicine cabinet. He opened the mirrored door without looking at himself and popped three ibuprofens from the blisters. Four would be excessive. Three was the right amount of too much.

The piano keys rolled upward as he drank from the tap and swallowed the capsules. He closed his eyes and recalled Beth beneath him, moaning, perfect tits pointed at the ceiling. She’d been so light and hot, her skin so fucking soft. He’d been more than ready to fuck, barely worried he’d lose it before they got there. How had he fallen asleep on her? How?

He closed the bathroom cabinet and came face to face with himself. His eyes were so bloodshot, he looked poisoned. He groped for Sal’s contact drops, then remembered he’d run out. He’d have to borrow more. In the meantime, he had one option. Byron pulled off his work pants, removed his AirPods and started the shower. He let it get warm and stepped inside. He let himself enjoy the first few seconds then wrenched the dial to cold. The water pounded him like icy nails, but he didn’t move. He stayed under the spray until he was shaking. He dried himself, trying not to move too much because his nausea was threatening to turn itself into something worse. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he put his earbuds back in. Heading downstairs made his brain bounce in his skull. He needed coffee, hot and dark and packed with sugar.

Beth.

He’d thought about ditching their date. Going out with someone he met on the street was dumb enough, but when he added the trip to Brunswick, it all seemed like a hassle. But it was a decent afternoon and after knockoff, he’d gone to the Skinny Dog Hotel with his dad’s apprentice, Kevin. A couple of pints and all he could think about was sex. He wanted to get back out there, and a girl who yelled at him from a moving car seemed like a solid option.

Why not, he’d thought when he texted her.Fuck it.

He’d been surprised when he’d showed up at the bar. She was prettier than he remembered, and her body was incredible. But it was more than that. A few minutes into the date he realised he’d misread her. When she first called out to him, he’d assumed she was weird or maybe high. He hadn’t cared when it was just a matter of getting back in the game, but Beth wasn’t weird. She was smart and funny, and he was into her. Too into her, considering they didn’t have anything in common. “Clair De Lune” turned into Bach as he walked downstairs. He headed for the kitchen, remembering the way Beth fake-glared at him when he said her favourite sport was tennis.

“Hey, mate.”

Byron turned, his ears full of cello. It was Derek, head to toe in sponsorship Adidas. His expression was grim. “You’re up early.”

Byron’s stomach churned. “Yeah. How are you?”

Derek said something he didn’t catch. Byron pulled out an AirPod, cutting the music. “Once more?”

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