8. “Habits （Stay High）” - Tove Lo
“Habits (Stay High)” - Tove Lo
Heath
I’m toweling off my hair when the text comes in. It chimes from my bag, but I don’t bother digging my phone out. I fish for the keys to my bike instead and wave goodbye to Seeley.
This is my third summer as an instructor at her surf shop. My dad may think it’s a deadbeat job, but he doesn’t understand that sometimes a person does something because they love it, not because they stand to make a buck from it.
That’s not something he’ll ever understand.
My F4CC sport bike is parked at the edge of the car park. I bought it two weeks ago, but the thrill is already wearing off. No wonder Rhett is always tripping on something. Even the waves didn’t do it for me today.
I straddle it before remembering the text. I unlock my phone and read it, then immediately wish I hadn’t.
It’s from Lux.
Walker agreed to poker tomorrow night!! It’s happening, bitches!!!!
I read it again. The words stay the same.
I read it once more .
Still there.
Okay, then. Looks like Walker is crashing our second poker night of the week.
I had planned to go home after hitting the gym, but I may need something a little stronger than beer and Netflix.
* * *
The club isn’t full tonight. The music is loud, but not the deafening roar it is on the weekends. Only desperation drags us losers out on a Wednesday night.
The pickings are slim, but by the time I’ve had my third whiskey sour, my standards have dropped considerably. There’s a blonde sitting on the blue velvet bench to my left. She came in with another girl, but I haven’t seen her companion for the past twenty minutes.
She’s hot enough. Hair past her shoulders that she’s constantly flicking over her shoulder when she thinks I’m looking, which I usually am. Long, tanned legs that stretch out for an eternity from beneath her tiny dress. Heels sharp enough to stab a guy with.
I shift my eyes from her legs to her face and find her already looking at me. I lift my glass in salute. She returns the gesture with a shy smile that is probably meant to look coy.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Another text in our group thread—Maeve this time.
Pierce, I’m dying for a spicy cocktail. Think you can make something tomorrow? xx
She knows Walker can’t handle even the lowest level of spice. I shove my phone back into my pocket. I drain the rest of my whiskey and glance back at the blonde. She’s not even bothering to hide her interest now. She takes another sip of her girly-looking drink while keeping her gaze fixed on me .
What the hell.
I stand and walk to her table. I can’t even come up with a cheesy pickup line. “Do you want to get out of here?”
She’s on her feet before the words are all out of my mouth, proving she’s had much less to drink than I have. She grasps my arm as we head for the door, and I order an Uber. Even if I were sober enough to drive, I wouldn’t take this girl on my bike.
She slips into the car ahead of me. The back of her dress dips down to her ass, something I would have discovered sooner if I had put my arm around her as we walked. I slide into the car and grab her.
She tastes like the sweet, candy-infused drink she must have had. She knows what to do with her mouth, I’ll give her that. By the time the car drops us at the Carlton, I’ve already had my hand far enough up her dress to know that she’s as ready for this as I am.
The clerk gives a nod of recognition as we approach the desk and tosses me a room key. The blonde giggles from where she’s tucked under my arm. I’ve already forgotten her name. Julia? Jenny?
“What, do you like own this hotel or something?”
“Something,” I say. It’s as far from the truth as me being president, but I’m not in the mood for explanations.
We ride the lift to the fourth floor. If we had a room higher up, I would consider getting it on in the elevator, but ten seconds isn’t enough for anyone, even with a boner this size.
We stumble into the room and do the customary removing of clothes while simultaneously grabbing and touching and kissing. She sinks onto the bed beneath me, nipples like soldiers awaiting marching orders.
Her body’s perfect. Perfect tits, perfect legs, perfect ass. She’s a good kisser, she doesn’t say much, and she is rubbing my cock like it’s her favorite toy on the planet. I press into her hand and remind myself that this is what I need .
It doesn’t take long. She must have come to the club ready for something besides her vibrator, because I will admit to not being at my most gentlemanly tonight.
I hand her the black dress pooled on the floor. She takes it with an actual shy smile this time. I pull my boxers on, but I prefer to get dressed after they leave. There is something about dressing in front of someone that feels more intimate than sex itself.
When she has all of her things, she looks at me and bites her lip. I know what’s coming.
“Can I have your phone? That way you’ll have my number.”
“Sure.” I grab it from the nightstand and hand it to her. “But don’t expect a call.”
She stops with her hand outstretched. “What?”
“Feel free to put your number in if it makes you feel better, but I’m not going to call.”
Her hand drops, and she takes a step backward. “What would make me feel better is if you wouldn’t be a jerk.”
“I’m not trying to be a jerk,” I say. “Just honest.”
A shrill sound comes from her mouth. I think it’s supposed to be a laugh. “ Honest? Why would you say something like that in the first place?”
“Because it’s easier to hear now than in three days when I haven’t called.”
“You’re an ass.” She slams the door behind her.
I run my hands through my hair. I don’t know why they always get mad. I’m doing them a favor by letting them know what to expect ahead of time, but it’s never enough.
I walk to the window and look out over the city. No matter how much I try to control people’s expectations of me, they always end up wanting more than I can give them. I thought it made me considerate. Maybe it just makes me a jerk.
My keys fall to the floor when I pull them out of my pocket. As I bend to pick them up, my eyes catch on the photo keychain I haven’t been able to take off of my keyring.
Walker and I were in Switzerland when the picture was taken, arguably the best two weeks of my life.
Something changed between us on that trip.
I ended up telling her about my dad while we were lying on our backs, staring at the stars.
Instead of being scared off the way I thought she’d be, she told me she loved me.
It was different with her—easier—like our souls had known each other since the beginning of time.
I should get rid of it. Drop it in the hotel rubbish bin, where there will never be a hope of recovering it. But something keeps me from sliding it off the ring. Idiocy probably, or maybe cowardice. Or maybe I need the reminder that someone once loved me for who I am.
I check the time on my phone before sliding it into my pocket: 12:13 a.m.
Less than eight hours to go.