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the screen background and settle for the Marine seal. That’s better. Before I put the phone down, I key in cream-puff’s number in the contacts. After all this, eventually, I will have to wash my hands.
    I leap up to get a bottle of water and settle on the bed with the pillows layering behind my back. This is going to be a monumental call, and I hope it lasts all night. Resolving what to say, I begin to tap her number.
    I hear ringing. Still ringing.
    “Hello, you’d better have a good reason for calling. Leave a message or get lost.”
    “Yeah, Susie?”
    Click.
    Damn! It is her fuckin’ voice mail! I tap the recent numbers and hit hers. The ringing starts again. My mouth is open, waiting to speak when the voice mail comes on again. Fuck!!
    I can’t leave it like this. Her spunky temper, just confirmed in her voicemail, is not going to stop me. I have to see her, now.
    I tap another number. “Cam?”
    “What the fuck, man? Are you fuckin’ crazy? I’m gonna beat your ass when I see you if you don’t stop callin’ me!”
    I know Cam is pissed but this might work in my favor.
    “Where does she live?”
    “Where the fuck does who live?”
    “The cream-puff.”
    “What? Jesus Christ almighty, Bryce. Quit fuckin’ callin’ me!”
    “Where does she live, buddy? The address? Is she single?”
    The voice in the background is a bit more agitated now and I know it’s now or never.
    “Where?” I repeat.
    “God dammit! You know where the Carting Springs Apartments are?”
    “I’ll find them.”
    “Apartment 324.”
    “Thanks, buddy.”
    “Don’t give me that. Just don’t fuckin’ call here again, got that?”
    I hang up and spring from the bed to my closet. I rip a clean shirt off a hanger and grab my favorite jeans off the shelf. I throw on my beige Docksiders and grab my phone and keys. Once I get outside the door, I think better of it and go back in. I brush my teeth, smooth my hair, and shave. For good measure I spritz on some cologne my mother bought me last Christmas.
    One quick look in the mirror, and all I can feel is the woody in my pants. Jesus! I hope I lose it on the way. I try not to analyze what I’m about to do—go to her place. If I think about it too much, it’ll become obvious that I’m acting like a stalker, and I’ll change my mind. I can’t change my mind. I have to see her.
    In the Explorer, I check myself in the mirror one more time before punching in the apartment complex in my GPS. The black leather seats are cool to the touch, and I realize how chilly it can be in the middle of the night when you’re not drunk. The navigation voice begins talking, and I pull away from the curb and feel exhilaration as I’m on my way.
    What the fuck am I gonna say? I’ll come up with something. I’m good on that last minute shit.
    Turns out it’s not far, and soon, the voice announces I have arrived. I look around. The buildings are a bit dated, but respectable. Mature shrubs and black lacquered lamplights line the sidewalk. She’s on the third level, and there are only exterior steps, so up I go. I come to her door and my hand poises to knock when I realize I still haven’t thought of a god damned thing to say. Well, that solves the woody problem, I realize. I knock anyway.
    There’s no response. Nothing. I knock again, but this time louder. Finally, I see a doorbell button next to the door, and I punch it a few times. That’s when I see a dim light inside, as though someone is opening a door to a lit room but quickly pulls the door almost closed so they can’t be seen in silhouette.
    I knock again, and that’s when I see movement in the drape hanging next to the door. It moves oh so slightly. She’s in there, I know it. She sees me and is trying to figure out what I want.
    “Susie?” I call softly and even so, dogs start barking down the block. “Shit.” I tap this time. “Susie? It’s me, Bryce. From the engagement party…Cam’s best man…remember me?”
    The door