EXCEPTional

Ch. 3 (Chance)

*Chance* 

When I woke up the next morning, I had a strange amount of energy. Sleep was a great way to refuel, but I hadn’t felt this ready for the day in months.

      I hopped in the shower, whistling a song as I washed. I stepped out, wrapping a towel around my waist, and glanced sideways at myself in the mirror.

      About a year ago, I had done a photo shoot in just a towel and wet hair. It was to promote a shampoo and conditioner for men, and they thought the best way to sell it was by taking photos of me with a towel around my waist and the water in my hair dripping down my chest. It was a popular shoot for the women, but it didn’t go over big with the men—most didn’t want to see a guy surrounded by steam to get them pumped for the latest hair product.

      Before I could dry off, I heard my phone ring. I left the bathroom and answered, “Hey.”

      Marcus groaned. “Man, I’ve got a killer headache.” It was his typical hangover phone call.

      Smirking, I asked, “You sore anywhere else?”

      “Not funny.” He groaned again. “Get me some pain killers.”

      I glanced at the small puddle of water beginning to form on the floor. “Can’t you get Morgan to do that for you?”

      There was a brief silence before he exclaimed, “You don’t ask the girl you banged last night for pain killers the next day!”

      I released a loud laugh. “Alright,” I folded, “but gimme a bit. I just got out of the shower.”

      “Please tell me you are not talking to me naked.”

      “I’ve got a towel,” I assured him.

      Marc coughed. “Okay, you got half an hour. Just get me my meds!” He hung up.

      I went back to the bathroom, dried off, got ready, and put on my clothes for the day: jeans and a T-shirt that hugged my torso, dragging attention to my biceps, pecs, and then waist. I slipped on socks and the Converse, grabbed my necessities, and left the room with a bag with a bottle of pain meds inside.

      After Marc opened his hotel room door, I ducked my head and whispered, “You got the cash, I got the stuff. Trade.”

      He glared and tore the bag from my hands. He went into his room, straight to the bathroom with a few pills in his palm.

      I stepped gingerly inside, glancing at the disaster of a room. Chuckling in amusement, I stuffed my hands in my pockets and mused, “Must’ve been a crazy night.”

      He looked at the bed sheets and pillows cluttering the floor, and shrugged. “No worse than the one in Austin.”

      With a laugh, I leaned against the wall. “I had to pay for the lamp and TV you broke.”

      He grinned. “Yeah,” he said with a sigh. “That was a great night.”

      I rolled my eyes. Marc began to tidy the room (his version is piling everything on the bed) and I watched, silently thinking. Finally, I asked, “What do you think of a vacation?”

      “Sounds good,” he answered. “Where to?” He automatically assumed that included the regular gang.

      “No, I mean just me,” I clarified.

      He stopped to look at me, an eyebrow quirked. “Well, yeah, I guess. You’re allowed to take vacation time,” he said with a shrug. “Where you headed?”