Chapter 97

“Sorry! No way.”

Bill hung up.

Tom Alan stripped down to nothing. He pulled a pair of sweatpants on over his still-unsatisfied penis and then pulled them off. He took care of himself, there in the hotel bed, cleaned off with the ugly, flowered bedspread out of spite, and, surprisingly, fell asleep right after.

* * * *

Long before it was time to get up, Tom Alan awoke to a pounding on the door. He opened it. “Ow!

“Asshole.”

“Ow!”

“Idiot!”

“Ow! Stop hitting me!”

“Why should I?”

“Because it hurts! I take it you talked to Bill.” Tom Alan rubbed his arm. Then, Erika did, and actually looked regretful.

“Not talked. He might never talk to me again. He sent me an e-mail.” Which she must have read on the tablet she’d just smacked him with. “You had no right,” she said.

“You’re right.”

“I mean, what the fuck did you think you’d accomplish? Were you that jealous?”

“You’re right.”