Chapter 8

• “You fucked it. Just admit it. She’s gone.”
• New York City
• Saturday night
• I sit at the busy bar in New York named Luco. I’ve chosen a seat that faces out onto the street and I stare out at the crowd bustling past. This is the craziest thing I have ever done in my life. After thinking on it all week, I got on a plane this morning to come to New York to look for a girl whose name I don’t even know.
• I had to. She hasn’t left my mind since I left her at her hotel room last Sunday morning.
• I didn’t even tell anyone I was coming. I know how fucked up this must seem, but to me it feels like the only logical thing I could do. I have no idea how to find her.
• I take out my new phone and click through to my cloud and stare at the photo I have of the gorgeous creature. I’ve stared at it every spare moment I’ve had for six days. This is the only evidence that she even exists.
• Who are you?
• It’s weird. I’m a player. In fact, I’m a player’s player. I don’t think twice about the women I sleep with most of the time, and I definitely never would have done anything this desperate before.
• Maybe I’m going soft in my old age.
• An annoying little voice whispers to my subconscious… Maybe she’s different?
• I watch the oncoming crowd in the street and I frown. I don’t even know if I would recognize her on sight to be honest. I walk over and take a seat at the bar.
• “What will it be?” The bartender smiles.
• “Blue label Scotch on the rocks, please.” I glance around as I scan the crowd.
• She makes my drink, turns back and slides it over the bar. “You here alone tonight?”
• I shrug, and for some reason I feel like I need to elaborate. “Believe it or not, I flew in from LA today and am looking for a girl I met in Vegas last weekend. I have no idea of her name.”
• Her eyes hold mine. “That’s crazy romantic.”
• I shake my head. “I don’t do romantic. It’s crazy stupid.”
• She serves the man next to me, while I sit and drink my drink. After a few moments she comes back to me. “Why don’t you put an ad in the classifieds.”
• I frown into my drink. “What?”
• “Put an ad in the classifieds that only she would understand.”
• I laugh and run my hand through my hair. “Now that’s fucking crazy.”
• She picks up a cloth and wipes the bar in front of us. “No, that’s crazy romantic.”
• She moves on to the next customer and I sit and think for a moment, and eventually I pick up my drink and return to my table near the window, deep in thought.
• Hmm… what would I write in the ad?
• A waitress walks by. “Excuse me, do you have a pen I could borrow, please?” I ask.
• She feels insides her pockets and hands over a black pen, as well as a napkin.
• “Thanks.”
• I frown as I think. What the hell am I going to write?
• To the betting man’s wife who works in an ice cream shop.
• We met in Vegas last weekend when you needed a stand in husband.
• I lost my phone.
• Je n'ai aucun moyen de vous contacter.
• Translation: I have no way of finding you.
• Wer auch immer eine Wette gewinnt mag niemals dasselbe sein.
• Translation: Whoever wins a bet to you may never be the same.
• I’m in New York looking for you.
• Appelle-moin
• Translation: Call me
• 0423788900
• I sit and stare at the scratched note on the napkin.
• I have officially lost my shit.
• Ashley
• I smile at the waiter as he puts our Margaritas on the table. It’s Saturday night and I’m out with my best friend Jenna for dinner.
• “Thank you,” we both say as we pick up our much needed cocktails. “And then what happened?” I frown.
• “So, this little shit has put it on her and she rejected him.”
• “But she was on with him, right?”
• Jenna shrugs. “She kissed him.”
• “And this was at the party?”
• She nods as she sips her drink. “Yep and they were drinking.”
• We are deep in discussion about the little dipshit that is picking on her baby sister who is only fifteen.
• “What happened then?”
• “She was on with him and then they went for a walk.”
• I shake my head. “Stupid move.”
• “I know, right? She reckons she didn’t think anything of it.”
• I roll my eyes and Jenna nods.
• “Then they go for the walk and he puts it on her in a park, and she says no. He gets all aggressive and shit.”
• I frown. “Seriously? How old is this kid?”
• “He’s only sixteen. They have a fight and he goes back to the party and tells everyone that she didn’t want to have sex with him because she has an STD.”
• My mouth drops open. “You’re joking?”
• “I fucking wish I was.”
• My hands go over my mouth in shock. “Bloody hell, what a twat.” I sip my drink as I try to process this. “Surely nobody believes him, right?”
• She shrugs. “You remember what it is like to be fifteen. Any gossip is hurtful. Even if it isn’t true.”
• “Fuck’s sake. What is she going to do?”
• “I tell you what I’m going to do: I’m going to march into the school and rearrange the fucker’s face.”
• I laugh into my drink. “That will work.”
• “I’m not even joking. What kind of kid does that to a young girl?”
• I shake my head. “If I knew what goes through every man’s brain, I would be a millionaire by now.” I sigh. All week I have waited by my phone for Vegas guy to call, but, of course, he hasn’t. As each day ticked on by so did a little piece of hope that I would be seeing him again.
• I really thought we had something.