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Guys Being Dudes: Pool Day

Guys Being Dudes: Pool Day

The sun beat down on his reflective Ray-Bans as he squinted beneath the lenses. He was lying on his back on a modern lounge chair, strategically placed in the shallow end of the pool. The top of his Yeti Colster had a half-empty can of Miller Lite peeking out, and he raised it to his lips while craning his neck to avoid the stress of sitting up.

It had been one full week since his official “termination” at Merrill-Lynch. At first, he had felt slightly ashamed. Getting fired was a major hit to his inflated ego. But after a week of licking his wounds and pondering his situation, it was obvious that they had made a huge mistake. No one had even attempted to mentor him or to improve his already-present talent! If they were really concerned with his performance, he should have had mentor-feedback and evaluations along the way. Instead, they stuck him in a tiny office around the corner and left him to his own devices. Technically, his lack of performance was their fault.

He drained the last of his beer and laid back down. He was in a pair of bright coral Vilebrequins, his white thighs showing more than was comfortable for the other pool-goers. The pool was already popping on an early Friday afternoon, and he could tell it was going to be a lit weekend.

None of his buddies were surprised that his ass got fired. Apparently they had had a bet going, and Logan won fifty bucks on his getting fired within six months. Those boners. They had plans to do an all-day brunch on Saturday, but in the meantime, he was going to chill at the pool and catch a tan. Everyone else was still at their jobs.

A group of four girls entered the gate straight across the pool, carrying beach bags and bottles of cheap champagne. He immediately adjusted his chair to sit up a little bit and flexed his abs ever-so-slightly. He reached behind his chair to grab another beer from his Yeti Hopper sitting on the edge of the shallow end. The familiar crack of the can put a grin on his face as he dove down the Miller rabbit-hole.

The girls across the pool unloaded their things into a covered cabana and stuck the champagne into an ice bucket. The brunette in the group popped the first bottle as the rest of them circled around and Snapchatted the entire event. One of the girls was laughing loudly, probably a few mimosas deep already, and was dressed in a barely-there neon green strappy bikini. Her long red hair danced down her back as Calvin Harris’ “Slide” played over their portable Bose speaker.

He squinted his eyes as she turned around to Snapchat a video of the pool. From beneath her oversized aviators, he suddenly realized that he knew exactly who this she-devil was.

He was suddenly transported to a moment in time, years ago. It was Macy’s senior sorority formal, and he was three sheets to the wind at a bar in their college town. She was ignoring him for her friends, throwing back lemon drop shots across the bar. He sat in the corner with a few other dejected dates, who were all doing their personal best to max out the event’s tab. He stepped outside for a smoke, and was greeted by a drunken and swaying redhead in a slinky silver dress, a Camel Crush placed between her index and middle fingers. It was her. Jordan Berkeley. The reason Macy dumped him so long ago in the first place.

It was going to be an interesting weekend, indeed.

Image via Shutterstock

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Taylor

Texas native and Alabama grad with a Drake problem.

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