Ask Jake (Book One of the Whisper Series)

Nineteen: Bloody Mary

Adam

"Greg, tell me how bad it was?" I beg him as I make him sit in the dark room with me; the light is too much.

When Greg recalls the night, he laughs, which is not comforting, at all.

My phone dings, and dig it out of my pants that are lying on the floor. Greg says something about getting water as I read the message:

GILLIAN: *Are you among the living?*

ME: *No.*

GILLIAN: *Greg making Bloody Mary's?*

ME: *Don't say Bloody Ma...*

ME: *How bad was it? Greg only laughs when I ask. Tell me Gilli.*

Oh, fuck me! I want to know, but I am afraid to know. My hand slaps my forehead and covers my eyes. When my phone dings with a new message, I read it through open fingers.

GILLIAN: *You were actually kind of cute and a little giggly.*

She's a very clever girl, repeating the words I fed to her once.

ME: *Lol. Clever.*

ME: *but a liar.*

GILLIAN: *Feel better. See you Monday.*

ME: *No.*

GILLIAN: *You won't be at work on Monday?*

ME: *See me before then.*

GILLIAN: *Busy weekend.*

What the hell? I have a vague memory about something Kellan said last night. Oh god. I spoke to Kellan. What the fuck did I say? What the FUCK did I say to him?

"Greg!" I explode from the dark room and into Greg's massive apartment. The light is a spear through my temples. Ouch. Filtering the light with my hands, I shout, "Greg?"

He comes running around the corner franticly, "Shhhh, you'll wake Francis."

"Tell me what I said to Kellan! Did I say something to him? About Gillian?" I am begging.

"Who's Kellan?"

"That guy Gillian was with," I say, frantic.

"Oh. Him," he says, recalling the memory with a laugh. Smiling, he lays it out for me, "You introduced him to me as 'Kean, or some shit' and then you said he had a 'bitches accent,' because you could not say British, and that made you laugh so hard, that we all laughed, except him, he looked pissed. Then, I took you to the bathroom to get rid of what looked like a years worth of bourbon."

I slap my aching head with my hands. "Oh no. I hope that was all I said. Oh god." I look up at Greg, "What the fuck are you wearing? A leotard?"

"You like?" he asks, doing some ballet move.

"No. You're such a fag," I say, joking with him.

"I know," he says flirty. "I see how well women are working out for you." He giggles like a child and hands me a bottle of water.

"No shit, man. No shit," I agree, and run my hands through my hair. "Did you say Francis is here? Francis Delacroix? You're sleeping with him? What the hell Greg? He's supposed to cover the kitchen, not you."

His look turns from innocent to chagrin as he raises his eyebrows. "He has enough energy for both. Which is saying a lot."

"You're a man whore," I say.

"True, but at least I wasn't crying, 'she's my Gilli! Fuck the friend zone! He had his hand on her thigh! Abercrombie fucking band kid."

"Please tell my you're kidding! When the fuck was this?" Please say at home.