"I doubt it." She lets out a dramatic sigh. "I'll spend most of my time alone, pining for a man who should be whispering sweet nothings to my clitoris but instead is selfishly elsewhere."
Something seizes in my chest, and it's painful as hell. "Just for the record, that person is me, right? Because if someone else is whispering to your clitoris, we're going to have words."
She laughs like it's not a totally valid question. "Yes, babe. I'm talking about you. Geez, you're so needy tonight." She hums, and I can picture her lying back, smiling as I trail kisses down her neck.
"That's because I miss you. Tell me more about this fascinating man you're saving your tongue and clitoris for."
Another hum. "He's incredible. Warm, hilarious, handsome as hell, and amazing in bed."
"Wow, sounds like he's the whole package." Also sounds like she's describing Julian. Not that I know what he's like in bed, but my dented ego assumes he'd be a fucking genius.
"He really is, and I adore him."
Keep breathing, Josh. She's talking about you.
I try to calm my hammering pulse.
As great as it is being so in love with this woman I can't see straight, I know damn well that loving something precious goes hand-in-hand with the irrational fear of losing it. That's the wellspring for my jealousy. Up until now, my experiences with women have been fleeting and unimportant. Primitive urges mildly satisfied. But loving Angel is like being a caveman who's finally discovered fire, and I can't stand the thought of going back to living in the dark.
I hear movement, and when she speaks again, it's softer. "I hate waking up and realizing you're not there. Sometimes I'll turn around to tell you something and have half the sentence out before I realize I'm speaking to an empty apartment. Can we not be apart any more please? It vexes me."
I smile when I hear the pout in her voice. "Well, there's nothing more tragic than a vexed Angel." Damn, I want to hold her. Kiss her. Make long, passionate love to her. I want it more than I've ever wanted anything. Even that full-size Klingon warrior when I was twelve.
I pace to release some energy. "I promise I'll make it up to you when I see you."
"And if I can't wait that long?"
"I'll Skype-sex you when I get home tonight."
"Sold." She sighs again. "Okay, you'd better go. Elissa will tear you a new butthole if you don't get in there soon."
"Yeah, I suppose."
"Take heaps of pictures, okay? I want to see what everyone is wearing. And get some pics of you as sexy James Tiberius Kirk. I'm going to print those and keep them in my spank bank for when we're apart."
Just thinking about her masturbating to images of me makes my costume get super uncomfortable in certain areas. I open my mouth to correct her about what I'm wearing but then stop. I don't know why. Maybe because she'd suspect I'm wearing this thing to boost my self-esteem like a needy little bitch.
"I love you, Josh."
Chest pain. Lots of goddamn fucking chest pain.
"I love you, too, beautiful. Can't wait until you're home. I'll call you later."
After hanging up, I walk over to the coat check station. Tonight's shindig is in The Starlight Suites, which is a collection of super swanky function rooms that take up the whole top floor of the Braxton Building. As I slip off my overcoat, the girl behind the counter hands me a ticket.
"You got somewhere to keep that ticket in your costume, sir?" Her tone makes me look up, and I find her giving me an appreciative onceover.
Okay. Never got that reaction when I was Kirk.
"Sure," I say. "Right in my jockstrap along with my dignity. Thanks."
There was a time when I'd try to charm the pants off this girl within minutes. Now, she barely registers. Being in love is doing weird things to me in many ways. I guess not all of them are bad.
As I head through the double doors, I see Elissa wasn't exaggerating when she said Marco's New Year's Eve parties were epic. The huge ballroom is teeming with people. Buffet and drink tables are set up around the room, and waiters in black ties make sure everyone's glasses remain full. As I glance around, I see the who's who of the Broadway set, including a three-time Tony-Award-Winning actor dressed as Pikachu.
Dude. And I thought my costume took balls.
People have gone all out with their costumes. One girl is in full Avatar mode, not wearing much more than top-to-toe blue body paint. She's laughing and flirting with a guy who's rocking a retro Saturday Night Fever vibe, white disco suit and all.
Yeah, that's a nightmare cleaning bill waiting to happen.
I nab a tall glass of beer from a passing waiter as I scan the crowd for Elissa. Not knowing who she's dressed as puts me at a disadvantage. It's like trying to find Waldo when he's not wearing his favorite striped T-shirt and hat.