Last night I punched the punching bag for twenty minutes before falling on the bed, panting. But it did no good.
This morning I call a friend of the family, a doctor. I ask him for the phone number of an andrologyst and I make an appointment for this afternoon.
Then I call Leo and invite him to lunch. "Bring Tony, too," I say.
"I'm in a fix, mate," he says nervously.
"What's up?"
"Jessica might be pregnant."
"Fuck."
"You can say that again."
"Didn't you take care of things?"
"The 'things' broke."
"I don't believe it. Rotten luck. And now?"
"We'll have to see."
"If it's any comfort, I've been there."
"We've all been there, if it comes to that."
"Right."
I change the subject.
"Have you seen Max? I've been looking for him for two days."
"No, I haven't seen him."
YOU ARE READING
LAST CUBA LIBRE
Fiction généraleIf you're looking for a gripping read, look no further than "Last Cuba Libre". Meet Jessica, who's a bit of a slag. Claudio, who rocks designer threads and snorts lots of cocaine. Then there's Tony, cruising in his Porsche, leaving a trail of broken...
