“Who the fuck cares? Maybe he got some last night and isn’t feeling it tonight,” Colin said.
“That would be the only decent explanation,” Bryan said.
“Another one is that I’m so fucking stressed with work that I’d fuck these women so hard I’d hurt them,” I said.
“Oh, shit. Well, go wank one off in the bathroom then get yourself some,” Colin said.
“I’m good. Really. Just gotta get through this next week,” I said.
“What’s so special about this next week?” Bryan asked.
“My fucking secretary-slash-investor’s-accountant-slash-everything-else is on a retreat and I’m realizing just how much she does around that fucking place,” I said.
“Is she hot?” Bryan asked.
“She got big tits?” Colin asked
“Is she intelligent and good at what she does? Yes,” I said.
The guys were looking at me from across the table like I’d grown a third damn eye.
“You okay?” Bryan asked.
“Why the fuck wouldn’t I be okay?” I asked.
“You’re just…not yourself,” Colin said.
“Define ‘myself’,” I said.
“You’re not…horny,” Bryan said.
“What?” I asked.
“Come on, Preston. You know what we mean. We come out to places like this and we drink. We snack around and we hit on women. We might order ourselves a nice little side in a private room before you get drunk and buy the entire room a fucking shot. You almost always leave with one of these fantastic women on your arm and court them around for a couple of weeks. Showing them off to the press and shit. You fuck her brains out, you treat her right, then you send her back. It’s what you do. You’ve done that shit every time you’ve broken in a new company,” Colin said.
“It’s tradition, man,” Bryan said.
“Look, if I have to get my dick wet so you guys’ll shut up, then I’m going,” I said.
“Thank you,” Bryan said.
“About damn time Preston fucking Walker showed up,” Colin said.
I threw back the rest of my martini and got up from the booth. I scanned the crowd for one of those spicy redheads. I spotted her across the room, with her deep brown eyes and her luscious red locks. I beckoned for her with my fingertip and she slid from her chair, interrupting the conversation she was having with some poor, pimply startup bastard.
“Mr. Walker,” she said.
“What is your name, beautiful?” I asked.
“Roxie,” she said.
“Well, Miss Roxie. Are you free for the next couple of hours?” I asked.
“That depends,” she said.
I slid out my wallet and opened it up, showing her the two thousand dollars I was carrying on my person.
“Would you like your regular room?” Roxie asked.