Ring, ring

"C'mon Trish..." Taylor mumbled into the phone.

Ring, ring

"Fuck it then! Stay pissed!" He slammed the receiver down angrily. Trisha hadn't spoken to him in days and, frankly, he wanted to know why the fuck not. He hadn't done anything but everything for her!

Taylor and Trisha's relationship had been a whirlwind of emotions. They'd met through a mutual friend while on a trip to Vegas. It probably should have dawned on Taylor then that it hadn't been the best place to meet a girl, but he'd been so taken by her beauty that he couldn't help asking her out that night. The two had a great first date and afterwards spent most of their time in Las Vegas together. When it was time for Taylor to leave, they'd decided to stay together. What a stupid fucking idea, Taylor thought.

... ...

Things had gone well during the first few months of their relationship. Despite the distance, Taylor made the drive to Nevada whenever his schedule allowed him the time. After about seven months though, Taylor noticed Trisha had become harder to get in touch with. It wasn't long after her distance that she'd admitted to Taylor she'd been seeing other men. He'd been heartbroken but she insisted he come to the city and hear her out. Taylor did just that. Trisha had told him she loved him and that her antics had made her realize that. She said she only hoped he'd forgive her. Taylor proposed.

Things had been going great for them. Trisha had been calling every night before Taylor even got the chance to call her. Before the end of each call she'd tell him how much she loved him and how she couldn't wait to see him again. In one call she even mentioned coming to Tulsa. This was something that excited Taylor, because she'd never made the attempt to come see him before.

One day - some months later - Taylor decided to surprise his bride-to-be, so, he called his florist and ordered two dozen white roses to be sprayed light blue - her favorite color. He packed his bags, collected his flowers, and made the trip to Vegas.

Not wanting to spoil his surprise, Taylor didn't call Trisha to come open the door. Instead, he went straight to the door and crossed his fingers. Her doorman let him in the building without question - he said he'd recognized Taylor from his many previous visits. After thanking the doorman, Taylor took the elevator to her floor - six - and stopped in front of her apartment - Trisha Campbell, 612. He raised his right hand and knocked on the door while cradling the flowers in his left. No answer. Taylor heard strange scuffling sounds coming from the apartment. He pressed his ear to the door, instantly fearing for his girlfriend's safety. Taylor reached out to the doorknob. Unlocked.

He turned the knob slowly. No one.

"What the hell?" he mumbled. He heard more scuffling - a giggle. From the kitchen? he thought.

Taylor looked to his left, to the small off-set kitchen. All seemed to be in order. Another giggle. Definitely from the kitchen.

Taylor moved towards the source of the laughter and made his way slowly around the island in the middle of the kitchen.

"What the fuck is going on?" he boomed, dropping the flowers on the floor. Trisha looked up at him, eyes wide with shock.

"Tay..." she started. He raised a hand to silence her as he surveyed the scene before his eyes. His girlfriend remained sprawled, on her back, in all her naked glory. The chocolate syrup tha dribbled down her chest and thighs contrasted harshly with her snow whit ceramic tiles. In the corner of the room, a young man, well boy, about seventeen Taylor guessed, was curled tightly into the corner he had fled to upon Taylor's explosion, his face covered incriminatingly in chocolate. Taylor turned to the boy.

"Who the fuck are you?" he demanded. The boy flinched.

"Winsley," they boy replied, shakily.

"Trisha, what the fuck are you doing?" He turned to Trisha who had now stood up to face him.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" she replied cooly, glancing at Taylor. His face clearly expressed his shock are her uncaring tone. She leaned her elbows back on the marble countertop and tapped her nails on it, looking at him expectantly.

"Excuse me?" he replied, his voice shaking with anger.

"I said, what does it look like I'm doing, Taylor?" she responded more slowly this time. Her voice was steady and impatient. Taylor looked at Winsley.

"Get the fuck out you little shit." Winsley hurridly gathered his garments and bolted as fast as he could out of the apartment. Taylor looked at Trisha.

"How old is he?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "Seventeen or eighteen?"

"Trisha, you're twenty-five!" Taylor stared at her in disbelief.

"So?" she pouted, making her way over to him. He sighed. When she was close enough to feel his breath on her face, she looked at him seductively and licked the chocolate off her fingers.

"You know," she sighed into his ear, "I've missed you." Trisha held his gaze as she masterfully slipped her hand past the waist of his jeans. Instinctively, Taylor's breathing increased.

"Shit," he moaned. What the fuck am I doing? "Don't fucking touch me," he hissed, shoving her hand away. She looked genuinely hurt.

"Why?" she whispered.

"Because I don't know where the fuck your hands have been." She searched his face for any sign of regret about what he'd just said. Nothing.

"Taylor?"

"Fuck you, Trish." He stormed out of the apartment, leaving her speechless.

... ...

Right, I left, so why the fuck am I callng her? Taylor shook his head in disappointment and grabbed his keys. He drove to the bar that was only a few blocks from his house. After five or six shots of tequila and at least six beers, Taylor found himself beyond wasted and sitting next to a less than beautiful woman. She wasn't ugly, she just wasn't his 'type' - Trisha was blonde with hazel-green eyes and very leggy. This girl had wavy brown hair and caramel colored eyes. She wasn't nearly as tall as Taylor, probably only five three or so. The funny thing was, she didn't seem to think he was any more attractive than he found her. Despite the lack of physical attraction, Taylor found her to be very easy to talk to, or was it the alcohol?

"So thhhen," he slurred, "the slut sticks her hand down my pants! And I'm like wha the fuckk?" By now he'd probably spit as much alcohol on this girl as he'd actually consumed.

"Thatta boy!" She slapped him on the back causing him to hiccup. "So, what's your name?"

"Tayyylor. What's your's?" he spat back.

"Jakkie." She smiled.

"Oh," Taylor gasped.

"What's wrong?" Jakkie asked concerned.

"You've gotta purty smile." He winked at her and she blushed. "How old are you, Jakkie?"

"Twenty-three. You're not like eighteen are you?"

"Twenty-five!" Taylor cried almost proudly. "You know, I could take you out of those clothes if you want." Shit. She smiled.

Within minutes, Taylor had Jakkie pinned up against his bedroom wall. His cell phone began to vibrate on the dresser next to them and, though he wasn't sure if it was someone calling or if it was he and Jakkie causing it to jump around, he flipped it open.

"Hello?" he gasped, not really paying attention to the phone.

"Taylor? What's going on? Who the fuck is that girl?" Trisha's shrill screams filled his ears. He opened his mouth to explain but thought better of it and didn't answer her questions. "Taylor, what the fuck are you doing?" she demanded once again. Taylor grinned.

"What does it sound like I'm doing, Trisha?" he replied. He listened for a moment to her shocked silence before flipping the phone closed.

In Las Vegas, Trisha sat stunned on her couch, listening to the sound of the dial tone.