Chapter One

The smell of sweat and KY hit me first, before realizing I can’t feel my left arm. In the torturous sliver of a crack between dreams my body jerks itself awake as my consciousness takes it’s first step up the proverbial staircase that pulls me back to the world of the living each morning. Well, in truth, whenever it is that I wake up. It’s actually pretty rare that I see a morning these days, at least in the traditional sense. I usually wave to the dawn as we cross paths.

I trade the haze of my alternate universe for physical sight reluctantly as I squint at what is, to my disappointment yet no surprise, an unfamiliar ceiling. Fuck. Good job Asher.

As usual I get a bit anxious and break into an instantaneous sweat as I try to piece together the night before. The who, what, where and when evade me. My hot flash is followed by a deep chill. Yep. I’m naked. Fuck. I use my working arm and peek under the covers just to verify. Verified. I lift the covers just a bit more and glance to the right. At least he has a nice ass. God I hope it matches his face. I smirk at my accidental joke. I use my right arm to rescue my left from the captivity of my head. Normally now is when I would then gently place my dead arm on my crotch, something I’ve never grown out of. I pass on the opportunity and lay it at my side. I figure at this point I’ve had my fill. All at once minions of micro-robotic armies go to battle on my left arm as I wiggle my fingers. Time to make my escape before too much recollects itself.

I gently brace myself and sit up as I twist and flop my legs over the side of the bed. I’m startled when my legs don’t drop more than five inches to the floor. Okay, so I definitely didn’t go home with a sugar daddy. I don’t get the leg momentum I had been counting on and I’m forced to use my elbows to fully prop myself up. God, I hope this guy doesn’t wake up. I just want to get dressed and get the hell out. Standard procedure.

Thankfully, as I had hoped, my clothes are lying on the floor by my side. I’m glad to not have to prance around on a naked hunt. I grab my bundled shirt allowing a still open bottle of KY to roll out revealing a saucer sized wet spot smack dab in the middle. So sloppy, though I’m glad to see the lube on my side.

Without a choice, I slip on the shirt and then the rest of my clothes while taking my first good look around. It’s a small ass studio apartment. A slab of linoleum marks the boundaries of the kitchen not more than five feet from where I stand. No stove. Regular sized fridge with a small counter, home to a hot plate and a microwave. It’s completely thrown off by an out-of-place antique looking stand alone sink that looks like it belongs in the far reaches of an employee bathroom of a Chinese food restaurant that seats 20. Weird. But kinda cool. Sorta. Only in the “I’ve never seen shit like that before” way. The walls are chocolate-brown. So is the carpet. Gives the place a shag wagon kind of feel. There are plenty of clothes all over the floor. I realize I’m analyzing every detail and stop. Gotta go. I pat my right ass cheek and feel my wallet. Good deal. Then on second thought I pull it out and look inside. No cash. Again, not surprised, but seriously, fuck! I feel my phone in my left front pocket, my one key on a ring in my right. Okay, let’s move.

I see my shoes sitting haphazardly by the door, and gently walk to them. As I come around the other side of the bed, well, mattress rather, I look to see the face of Mr. In-Question. The one window is barely illuminating the room from the opposite side of the place, and I can’t make him out. My eyes are still adjusting. I figure it will just have to be a mystery. I don’t want to risk waking him up by getting close enough to take a peek. I’ll just pretend that he’s Ryan Renolds and be done with it. I slip my shoes on and turn facing the door. I’m confronted by my drunken, yet legible, handwriting on three sloppily placed post-it notes. Oh god. I pulled a Memento.

Yep, you’re drunk off of your mothafuckin’ ass. Yep you just met him about three hours ago. Way to go. (smiley face; kinda)

Don’t ditch, the second begins. This guy’s a catch you flakey self absorbed sex addict. (he’s watching you write this, he’s not as drunk as you, and he really likes you.)

I’m humored by my use of parenthesis. I’m such an idiot. I read the last one.

Go wake him up, he’s hot, don’t worry. You guys are having lunch today assuming you can eat without barfing all over him. Oh yeah, his name is Chase. How cute is that?

I’m genuinely fascinated. I’ve never done this before. I smile to myself. What am I trying to get myself into? I was obviously drunk out of my mind, as I have absolutely no recollection of writing any of what I’m reading, but I was definitely making some kind of sense. Nothing too crazy. It’s mildly comforting. But I’ve learned never to trust drunk Asher. He’s a damn fool. Either way I slowly turn back around and look at the face I can’t really see. I look to the left and see the bathroom and realize I have to piss like a race horse. This newly discovered Chase gives no indication of being awake. I stare a few seconds longer barely beginning to be able to make out some features. I give up and tip toe to the bathroom. I catch myself in the small mirror. Holy shit. Lunch date my ass. This face isn’t going anywhere but straight home. That’s settled then.

“I dictated,” comes the voice from the other side of the door. “You insisted that you had better handwriting.”

I almost leap out of my skin while staring at my own surprised reflection. For a moment I’m frozen. He sounds handsome. But when has that ever played out? Now I’m even more doubtful. Of course he would tell me to write about his own self being a catch, and hot, blah blah. Then again, if he dictated, the whole bit about “…he really likes you” pleasantly catches me off guard. Apparently that wasn’t me being presumptuous. Curiouser and curioser. Self absorbed sex addict though? Harsh. Did he come to that conclusion on his own or did I confess? Maybe I just read like a book. Then ultimately I catch myself working out these equations.

“Is that so?” I manage. “It is generally better than most, I’ve found.”

Okay, so that was fucking stupid. I hear a slight chuckle. I look at my hair and quickly try to shape it somehow into something remotely intentional looking. I wipe a bit of crust from my tear ducts. My eyes are a bit glossy, but I’ve seen worse. Gotta pee, gotta pee. And there’s the used condom. At least I was safe. I flush.

“No objection here. Especially for being two sheets to the wind,” I hear the mattress moan. “there’s an extra toothbrush in the cabinet.”

Shit, he’s up. Up and moving. He sounds closer.

“That’s okay,” I say. I move to open the bathroom door in order to bee line it and exit stage right. Abandon ship. Door opens and he’s standing right in front of me. Another fright leap. He laughs.

“Sorry. Just wanted to make sure you knew that the mirror was the cabinet.” He smiles at me. He’s in nothing but briefs. My face must be giving me away. His smile widens as he watches me taking it in. He’s absolutely adorable. Not a drop dead hunk. Those aren’t my type anyway. Not more than 35 for sure. Holy shit, this guy’s a-fucking-dorable. Thank God. Tan, scruffy, just fuzzy enough. I look down at what I’m wearing. I take another quick side glance at the mirror. What did I do last night? What was in the water, or well?

“Yep. You’re still beautiful.” he says.

Intuitive. Quite. I likely.

I feel and peripherally see my face turn scarlet. Then I’m relieved as his does too. How utterly camp. “Beautiful”? Did he already slip in some hair of the dog? What the hell is he on? Before the tension reaches critical mass he leans in and lands a deep kiss on my lips. Arousal quickly tingles. His stubble scraps just right. I let out a small involuntary moan and instinctively close my eyes. He’s still kissing when I open them again. His are staring right at me. Amazing coffee brown eyes. His pupils are lost on them. What the hell is going on? He pulls back and looks at me. I see that he’s covertly retrieved a plastic wrapped travel toothbrush during the kiss. He holds it out to me.

“Hi.” He says, “It was nice meeting you, Asher.” His tone takes on an air of sarcasm, but in a good way. More of a rehearsed feel. Whatever. I take the toothbrush.

“Likewise” I say. I can’t help but smile. Ever so slightly, the memory of his face materializes in my mind. More of a Déjà vu than anything.

His expression gives away an invisible light bulb that blinks on above his dark brown hair covered, square-jawed, olive toned head. Yum.

“Hold that thought,” He says, then disappears into the room. I hold it.

He comes back with two shot glasses full of something brown. That explains it. I don’t do well with brown. I sniff the one he hands me. The captain. My only exception. Figures. I probably bought it.

“Just to level things out a bit. Before you brush your teeth I figure.”

I never turn down a shot. That’s definitely part of the problem. We cheers and throw back. He takes both glasses back and returns with a lit joint.

“Oh my god, you’re amazing” I say. We laugh.

At 30 I know I’m getting too old for most of this shit, but this morning, assuming it’s morning, it feels perfect. I feel my body relax. I only take a few hits. I’ve managed to remain standing in the same place. Chase gives me a wink and a nod as he exhales a cloud. I hold up the toothbrush.

“Not to push it, but does this come with toothpaste?”

“Oops. Yep, In the cabinet.”

I brush my teeth as Chase gets dressed. Chase. Damn right that’s a cute name. I feel the warmth of my morning shot hit my stomach and a pleasant drop in muscle tension as the wake and bake session kicks in. The combination of the two give me a pause to realize everything is entirely too good to be true at the moment. Is this real? Then come the brief flashes of the night before. The sense of the strobes, the bass, the 808, the kick. The crush of bodies heaving and ho-ing in unison. Chase; vaguely.

I rinse and finish.

I open the door just in time to see Chase tossing the remainder of his scarf over his shoulder with a big smile.

“So,” he says, “what do you remember about last night?”

Shit. Loaded question. This is when I start to get a bit panicky. The problem is, I’m notorious. Bottom line, if I don’t remember, I probably don’t want to. Although I have to admit that the way things are going so far this morning, I do get a bit of a different feeling this time around. Either way I feel my forehead bead with sweat.

“Well,” I say, “let’s see. I remember meeting Casey at Badlands and… oh shit! Casey!”

How the hell did I forget about Casey? Don’t answer that.

I quickly reach into my pocket for my phone, grab it, and see an unread text from her. I open it.

I appreciate the irony of this request :), it reads, but I want MAJOR details! Have fun sloppy joe! Ttyl!

“Don’t worry,” Chase says as he pulls on his shoes, “we had her blessing. It was pretty much her arrangement anyway.”

Curiouser and curiouser. I suppose a good blackout, if there is such a thing, makes for a wonderful morning mystery. I’ve somewhat mastered the art of picking around for clues, and asking vague open-ended questions in order to put a story back together, attempting to suggest that I have any recollection whatsoever. It’s pathetic.

“Wait. You know Casey?” I ask.

He walks up to me and I realize my jacket is in his hands. He hands it to me. I take it and he follows it in with another kiss. God, the eyes.

“I do,” he says with a bit of a hop, “she kept it a secret from you at the time, but she set us up. She did end up spilling the beans to you later, but by then…” his smile widens.

“Gotcha.” I say.

Okay, so this is Casey’s doing. That does make me feel much better. I let myself relax again.

“So now what?” I ask as I put on my jacket. He grabs the edges of it and gives it a fluff.

“How’s your tummy?” he asks.

“I’m not sure honestly. I’m sure in a few minutes the munchies will kick in.” I hope.

“Good,” He tugs me in his direction and leads me with him to the door. “I’ll take you to my favorite spot. You have everything?”

I triple check.

“Affirmative.”

I look at my phone again quickly to check the time. Saturday, February 4^th, 1:15pm.

Not bad. I’ve done worse.

We leave.