When she woke up, daylight was creeping in the window, and she was spooled up in the sheet, lying across his chest. His arms were around her, and when she looked up, she saw that a lock of her hair was across his face. She tugged it back self-consciously and sat up. She’d never had a guy; any guy spend the night at her place. She liked her privacy, liked having the whole bed to herself without the irritation of a snoring, thrashing human trying to sleep beside her. Yet, here she was, waking up in Jack’s arms. Jack...whatever his last name was, she realized with embarrassment. Kicking her way out of the sheet, Britt got to her feet and clutched her head instantly. It pounded like an unsuccessful road construction project and her teeth hurt, actually ached from the hangover. Stumbling to the bathroom with annoyance, she drank water and took a shower and drank more water, chastising herself for letting it get this bad.
She knew to drink water and take aspirin before bed to help curb this hideous feeling. She needed a full breakfast, something big. But she was stuck with this guy who thought it was socially acceptabl
e to hang out after a one-night stand. Britt didn’t have any experience with a one-nighter except that time in college with the one guy in her women’s studies class, the one with the tattoo of a hard drive motherboard on his chest. That hadn’t ended well but for sure he had at least had the courtesy to leave her dorm immediately afterward. Were they supposed to have breakfast together? Bond in some way? She had work. He had...probably the unemployment line or guitar practice or something. Mainly, she needed head space to get ready for her day and try to forget what she’d done the night before, namely some guitarist whose last name was a mystery better left unsolved.
Kevin never hung around and made things awkward. He liked his own apartment just like she preferred hers. She wondered, in retrospect, what made her think they could live together in the same apartment. He used to leave his socks at her apartment. As in he’d take off his shoes and socks and then leave the socks inexplicably. His socks were an abomination to her, white athletic socks regardless of occasion. She shuddered at the idea of living with those socks indefinitely. She hadn’t even noticed Jack’s socks or even his feet for that matter. She had been intently focused on other more enticing parts of him.
When she emerged from the shower and wrapped a robe around herself, Britt ventured out to get her clothes. She dressed swiftly and then pinned her hair up carefully in her best approximation of a librarian’s bun. She was erring on the severe side of professionalism, over-correcting after going off the rails. She added mascara, and she was finished. No way was she leaving him alone in her apartment where he could look at her old bank statements or try on her shoes or something.
She shook him by the shoulder. He didn’t move. Britt sat down on the edge of her bed, staring at him. He was easily the best-looking thing she’d ever had in her bed. In her life, if she was being honest, at least with herself. She wanted to bite his shoulder. Then she squared her shoulders and reminded herself sternly that she was ready for him to leave and never come back. He was a fling meant to ease the pain of losing Kevin and all her hopes and dreams of a life with him. A nice, sensible life that followed a predictable pattern and left nothing to chance. They had talked about going to a bed and breakfast in the Shenandoah Valley next fall when the leaves were turning. She had imagined apple cider, a crackling fire and a cozy evening for two. Now she had to rethink that and face the fact that she’d be going alone if she wanted to go there. Hot cinnamon cider and a thick sweater weren’t quite as romantic if she was alone. Her and her vibrator and maybe a new book on Kindle. It was the new romantic getaway, she thought with some dark amusement.
Still, he lay there, perfect and peaceful. Still, she wanted to strip off her clothing and crawl between the sheets beside him. She was always cold at night, even if she wore socks, but last night, in his arms, in the heat he gave off, she had melted against him, fully warm, fully relaxed for once. He had held her in his arms, had spooned up behind her and his presence, solid and strong, had lulled her into the deepest sleep she could remember. Not once had she awakened and wandered to the kitchen in search of a snack or to her phone just to check her email. She had felt safe with him. It must’ve been the tequila, she mused, making her think she felt safe, intimate, at ease with a total stranger. Tequila was horrible for her judgment.
Even now, maybe it was the remnants of alcohol clouding her brain, making her touch his face, trace his brow, his jaw, his lips. She wanted to memorize every detail of him, the way his jaw was a little too square, giving him enough of a rugged edge to keep him from being too pretty. She bit down on her full lower lip, struggling to remember that she needed him out of her apartment so she could get on with her life and forget her mistake, that she didn’t need him on top of her, beside her, underneath her no matter what her hormones, her impulses told her.
Britt gripped his shoulder, tried to ignore how thick and powerful his shoulders were, and shook him more insistently this time. His eyes blinked open, and he smiled when he saw it was her. She gritted her teeth, reminding herself not to melt at his smile. So he was charming. So he was cute. She was human, after all, but she had more willpower than this. Very seriously, she announced it was time for him to leave.
“Hey, Jack? It’s morning. You need to get going,” she said tightly, trying to sound cheerful and friendly and not say ‘get your ass out of my apartment, I’m done with you.’
“Okay. I take it you’re a morning person. Sorry. I’ll be out in five minutes.”
“No, there’s no rush, I just—have to get to work,” she hedged.
“At seven ten?” Jack asked skeptically.
“Maybe you have a few minutes. I like to get a coffee before work,” her voice sounded a little whinier than she intended.
“I’d try to kiss you good morning, but I have a suspicion you don’t want your hair messed up.”
“What gave it away?” she asked a little harshly, yanking her hand back from his shoulder where she was resting it.
“The scary hairstyle. The ponytail last night, that was cute and perky. This is like...executioner style,” he grimaced, his gorgeous face unfairly attractive even when he was scrunching up his nose.
“Thanks. That is, in fact, what I was going for. I want to inspire fear today. Maybe nobody at work will feel me up.”
“I think that has more to do with the moron you work for than it does with you. No offense.”
“None taken. I didn’t exactly think I was asking for it, but it’s nice to hear. Even if it is couched in the suggestion that I look so repellent no one would hit on me.”
“Look, even in high school, grabbing someone’s boob wasn’t hitting on her. It was—being an asshole. Have you tried asking him why he thinks he’s entitled to touch you?”
“No. I like having a job,” she said matter-of-factly as if he were stupid.
“Oh, if he threatens your job, you have him by the balls. Legally speaking of course. Sexual harassment. Do you even know how profitable the corporate sensitivity training industry is?”
“No, do you?” She snapped.
“Yeah, kind of.”
“Was it on Yahoo headlines?” she teased.
“Maybe,” he hedged.
“Listen, I had a nice time last night, better than nice, but I was a little the worse for the breakup and the margaritas and, if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to forget it ever happened.”
“That was cold,” he observed, pulling his clothes on. Sternly, she would not allow herself to watch him, to stare hungrily at his body. To offer him a shower, to offer to wash his back for him. Her mischievous impulses pelted her brain with an array of naughty ideas of what to do with him first thing in the morning, ideas that would most definitely mess up her hair.
“I apologize. I meant to be direct, not harsh. However, the truth is essentially the same.”