I realize that this scenario is completely nonsensical, but the idea popped into my head one day and didn't leave. Enjoy.
"I'm gonna throw up," I moaned, rubbing my temples.
David set a cup of coffee in front of me. "Yet another night of debauchery?"
I nodded and pull the mug close. Sweet life-giving brew. "I had to take a fucking bus downtown to get my car. Again. And my shirt smells like sandalwood."
"Ah, so the mystery masseuse is back," David joked. "Got oil on your dick?"
"No, dumbass. And I told you that I don't remember anything." These blackout nights didn't happen every weekend; more like a monthly occurrence. It wouldn't be weird given how much and often I drank, but I always woke up at home, showered and in my pajamas, and I always smelled of incense. I didn't burn incense and I never wore pajamas any other day of the year. Weirder and better still, I woke up feeling like my balls had been completely drained. It was as though I'd had amazing sex in my sleep.
"Maybe if you quit getting stoned every time you drink you'd start recalling shit. Like a massage hooker." David tapped my desk. "I need that concert review today, junior."
"You're a fucking idiot. And I only had the one joint. I think." Staring at the screen was going to make this hangover worse. Thinking about the previous night could make me hurl.
"G'morning Gary," David addressed an approaching figure. "Nicky here is attempting to reconstruct the events of last night to prove that he does get laid on the occasion."
Gary, ever the awkward soul, blushed to nearly the color of his hair.
"Don't believe him, Gary. I got pussy aplenty last night. I can feel it in my bones," I declared between sips of coffee. Gary looked tired. "Did you go out?"
He paused. "You don't remember seeing me?"
"Oh, um..." Gary scratched his head. "I guess you were pretty wasted."
"Don't remember a thing past the beginning of the after party."
"Oh, uh, of course. Right."
David and I watched as Gary turned tail and scurried off to his IT annex. So weird.
"You know," David commented, "I think you make him nervous."
"No, your ugly face makes him nervous," I grumbled.
David kicked my chair before settling at his desk. "I'm serious, bro. He doesn't act like that around me. He's all chatty until you walk in the room, and then he clams up like a dry twat."
I don’t think I care."You have such a way with words, Señor Editor."
"Maybe you were an ass to him," David suggested.
I groaned and scrubbed my hands over my face. "Dave, when would I even have the opportunity? I'm never around the guy. Gary's just kind of squirrel-y."
"Apparently you saw him last night."
Directing a glare at my supervisor, I pointed my coffee mug at him. "Lay off me, douchebag. I don't need to be his friend."
"When you say shit like that,” David said calmly, “you sound like a fucking asshole."
"Fine, mother, I’ll talk to him! Fuck!" Why did it even matter? I had a hangover, blank spots in my memory, and an article to write. David was a good supervisor and better friend, but he was nosy as hell.
David shook his head. "Geeze, touchy."