HATING THE BEST MAN (Hating Him #2)

Chapter One Place Your Bet The thrill is in placing the bet. Once the race is run or the match is played, you'll either win or lose. Until that happens, you're caught in this wonderful, agonizing sense of expectation… – Kenneth Cranham LUKAS GRIFFIN I may not be the smartest guy around, but I’m certainly not the dumbest—I know how to f*****g count to three. And right now, only three things are registering to my barely-conscious brain. I can’t process where I am or how I got here; what time of day it is or why I feel like s**t. Just three: three simple, seemingly insignificant things. For one thing… my phone is buzzing incessantly on the nightstand beside my head. Two: I’ve got a massive, splitting headache that won’t go away. And three—probably the least simple of all: a blonde bobble-head seems to have permanently attached herself to my c**k, and right now… I’m not in the f*****g mood. Three minutes, she said. Three minutes, and I’ll be gone. But it’s long past three minutes later… and I still haven’t come. I’ve never been a heavy drinker, but I guess you can call me one now. I’ve been stuck in this routine for the past eleven weeks, ever since I realized I was losing all of my closest friends. The person that I now talk to the most hates me, and I’ve been trying to find some sort of happiness in the bottom of a liquor bottle since she came into my life. Same story, different Saturday. I binge. I f**k. I come… until I come to my senses. It’s a three-part process, and it’s usually simple… but tonight, those former three things are all f*****g up the sequence. When my eyes adjust to their surroundings, I notice large, ornate black curtains by the windows, pristine white sheets on the bed—plush, rust-colored furniture at my sides. The room is nice, neat… but it’s not mine… I readjust the pillow, removing my hand from underneath my head. I don’t know what to reach for first: the glossy head of hair performing a slip-and-slide on my d**k or the vibrating phone on the glossy nightstand beside my head. I grapple for the one shiny thing, bypassing the other… for the moment. I press the button on the phone to pull up the screen. I groan, rubbing the stubble at my jaw. If it isn’t my number one hater now. What the hell does she want this late—early… or whatever the f**k time it is—anyway? I open her text. I called you earlier today. I need your help. Whenever you get a chance to extract yourself from the arms of whatever flavor-of-the-night you’ve decided to pick up, call me. I’ll be up late. I grunt when I read the final words, but the small gesture is a mistake. Sharp pain shoots through my temples, its effect the product of my moan, the phone’s bright light and some God-awful stench streaming to my nose. It’s the girl, her perfume. The blonde bunny is more Energizer than Playboy, and despite her best efforts, I just can’t get off. I only want her to get off… of me. The other nine million texts in my phone are from one of my best friends, Chris, who I abandoned several hours earlier at the bar, when my “one shot” turned into ten. In my alcohol-inspired stupor, I took off, gallivanting with some buxom, Hugh Hefner-praising nymph that I met outside of the restrooms. One Uber car led to the next, until we finally crash-landed outside of the Marriot. The Marriot. That’s it. I’m in a hotel room. I turn to place the phone down when my equilibrium shifts, turning my vision topsy-turvy. My stomach lurches, and I swallow a mouthful of tequila-flavored bile. What the f**k is this? I’ve never been a sloppy drunk. The nympho lifts her head up, taking note of my sudden jerking. “Oh, what’s the matter, baby? That pill not sitting well with your stomach? I thought a big boy like you could handle it?” she says, smirking. Her mouth returns to its previous position. I knew something was wrong. This cocksucking nutbag slipped me a drug. I become belligerent. “That’s enough. Get the f**k up. Your three minutes are up.” She looks up at me, releasing my c**k from her pink lips with a pop. Despite my brusqueness, she’s all smiles. “Hold your horses, honey,” she mutters. “I’m not done yet.” “Actually, yes… you are.” I clutch her shoulders, rolling her roughly to the side of the bed. I reach for the white duvet, pulling it over my nakedness, sinking my head back into the pillow. She swings her legs over the side of the bed, stuffing her fake t**s into the nearest shirt. “So that’s it?” she huffs. I roll over. “That’s it.” “You’re going to throw me out? What about fare for a cab or car? A tip?” “Here’s a tip, sweetie. Learn how to suck better c**k. You set my expectations way too high.” She finishes dressing, and I’m almost asleep by the time she hits the door. “Good night, asshole,” she cries over her shoulder. “Good night, flavor-of-the-night.” Waking up two days later is a chore. Monday morning has never been a friend of mine, but on this particular day, she is an icy cold b***h. I still haven’t recovered from my weekend binger, and the constant ringing of phones is driving me bat-s**t. I’m too old for this s**t. At twenty-eight, the hangovers are more brutal than they’ve ever been, and I just can’t seem to rebound from the partying like I used to. Chris chewed my ass out this morning when I arrived for work, and despite us owning the company together, he was ready to kick my ass out the second I stepped foot inside the door. Foxx, my other best friend and third partner in the company, is too preoccupied to even notice. He’s probably in his office, bending his fiancée, Kat, over his desk right now. He thinks Chris and I are too oblivious to catch on. Yeah, right. Lucky bastard gets to have s*x at home and at work. Must be nice dating a woman you work with. Kat has had a hold of Foxx’s ear—and c**k—since she started working at our magazine, Tripping Out!, and while I like Kat and admire the hell out of her talent, I can’t help but to feel shafted. Foxx has Kat. Chris has Tripping Out! And me? I have the fires of Hell burning up my ass in the form of a flame-breathing dragon named Elena, which reminds me… I have to call her before what’s left of my ass gets handed to me. I start to walk to my office from the break room when the ringing of a phone from Kat’s office grabs my ear. I check my watch. It’s about lunch hour… and I’m willing to bet that it’s the devil herself on the other end of Kat’s line. I amble into Kat’s office, snatching the phone off of the receiver. “Tripping Out! offices.” “You really should work on your tone, Lukas. You sound bored over the phone. That can’t be good for business. Where’s Kat?” I scoff, switching hands. “You’re not business, Elena. And I am bored—bored with your admonitions. Kat’s… well, Kat’s occupied right now.” She laughs. “Ah. And what better substitute for Kat than one of the premier voices of this company?” “I’m not a voice of this company—just a partner. A very, very silent partner.” “Ok, silent partner, I’ll cut to the chase. Here’s the deal…” She continues on for the next five minutes, barely taking a breath while I listen intently. She’s taken care of this. She’s taken care of that. And I can’t lie; she’s good—meticulous, but what’s the hurry? “Nice,” I respond when she’s finally done. “I think I like it… but what’s the rush? What couldn’t have waited two nights ago?” “The venue. I had to make a decision first thing this morning. I booked it.” She pauses. “Why? Did I interrupt something?” Her octave has deepened, her tone infusing with curiosity. I sigh wearily. “I apologized for that before, Elena. I didn’t mean to pick up while…” “Please,” she stops me. “Spare me the details of your skanky-ass sexcapades, Lukas.” I laugh. “Trust me; I’m not interested in giving you a blow-by-blow of my s*x life. You couldn’t handle it, anyway… I’m just saying that you won’t have to worry about interrupting anything else… nor will you have to expect any interruptions of your sexcapades from me.” “I would never be dense enough to allow you to interrupt me during sex.” “It seems to me that you never really have any s*x to interrupt.” She stops short. “f**k you, Lukas.” “Good day, Elena.” I barely get out the “El-“ before I hear the dial tone. Figures. That girl needs the stick pulled out of her ass and one in her crotch. “Phone s*x?” Kat quips from the doorway. Her stunning blue eyes are smiling. “Sorry. I heard the word ‘s*x’ and took a guess.” I shake my head, chuckling at the irony. “This is better than phone sex.” She grins broadly, shaking a head full of wavy brown hair from the other side of the room. “This is the third time she’s hung up on you this month, Griff. I don’t think there’s anything sexy about that,” Kat says, strolling towards me. I wink at her. “I do. She wants me… She just doesn’t know it yet.” I hop off of the top of Kat’s office desk, replacing the phone on the receiver before my feet even touch the floor. Kat saunters past me on her way to her desk, swatting me with a manila folder. “I’m sure my sister doesn’t want you, Griff, and I’m positive that she wishes you’d stop picking up when she calls my work phone.” Kat sits behind the desk, grimacing at the countertop. “And I’d wish you’d stop sitting on my desk when you do it. You’re going to leave an ass imprint on it.” “What?” I respond innocently. “You mad that it’s better than Foxx’s?” She shuffles the papers on her desk, standing them into a neat pile with a thud. She grins slyly at me. “Trust me, Griff,” she says. “Nothing is better than Brendon’s ass.” “What’s this about my ass?” A footstep thumps across the threshold, and I turn around to find Foxx leaning against the doorway, his blonde eyebrows raised in wry amusement. He fakes a punch to my gut as he passes me and stops directly in front of the wooden desk before bending down to kiss Kat. They start grinning like two Cheshire cats and I step away from the affectionate pair, attempting to slink out of the office before Kat can goad me any further. Good thing she only caught the tail end of that phone conversation. She doesn’t know… and I don’t want her to know. Elena and I are sneaking around behind her back. Our impromptu conversations? A ruse. Well, Elena hanging up on me is not part of the ruse but I digress. Every Thursday, while Kat takes lunch with Foxx, Elena calls our offices and I pick up. We have a “no-cellphones” policy at the Tripping Out! headquarters. Normally, Elena calls my work phone, but on the off-chance that I can catch her calling Kat’s phone, I pick up, discussing updates with her on the party—the surprise party that she and I are throwing for Foxx and Kat. The surprise engagement party for Mr. Brendon Foxx and Katarina Lexington. Soon to be Mr. and Mrs. Foxx. I can’t believe Foxx is actually going through with this thing: this whole tying the knot, “till-death-do-us-part” bit. And I like Kat. I like Kat a lot. But a marriage? A contract? Forever? I’m not so sure I buy into it. Still… ever since Kat’s signed on as a writer with the travel magazine that we founded, she and Foxx have been inseparable. And I’ve never seen him so happy. Maybe it will last… as long as anything really can, anyway. Maybe they’re as perfect a pair as it gets—which is a far cry from what Elena and I have. I’ve been talking to this girl steadily on the phone for more than two months now, and all I want to do is strangle her most of the time. Every time we speak, we wind up aggravating the f**k out of each other until I talk enough s**t to piss her off and have her hang up on me. I chuckle to myself as I waltz into my own office, closing the door behind me. Ok, I admit it. Part of me spits a bunch of bullshit just to f**k with her a bit, but it’s only because she’s so tightly wound up. She takes herself way too seriously, and she’s controlling as hell. We clash about every single detail of the party: from the décor to the attire to the location. Honestly? I couldn’t give two f***s about what color lighting we’re going to have at the party, but Little Miss “Can’t Be Wrong” always insists that we talk about more than just the food and booze (which is all I really care about, anyway). The party hasn’t even started, and already, I can’t wait for it to be over. Christ. I scramble to get a good look at my watch again, nearly knocking over the cup of lukewarm coffee on my desk. I’m late. I’ve got even more of this party s**t to attend to.