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I enjoyed myself last night, and I’m pretty sure he enjoyed himself, too.
So why do I feel so anxious?
I can’t help but think this is going to affect our professional relationship. His dark lashes shift as his eyes move behind his lids. A muscle twitch makes me smile as his expression relaxes. Is his sleep restful? Does he like sleeping next to me?
Those are two questions I probably shouldn’t ask him or myself.
What if people around the office find out? I bite down on my lower lip, staying totally still as my pulse jumps with stress. What if people at the office already know? Everyone knows he brought me home, maybe that is all they need to know we’re together. Who knows if the rumors have already started?
I should know better than to get tangled up like this. I like Clifton. He went from a troubled dude who seemed to like solving problems with his fists to the kind of guy I’d love to date. Not that we’re dating. But I could see myself with him, dating him, enjoying his company outside of work.
I’m acting silly, like some lovesick schoolgirl.
Moving very slowly, I glance at the clock on my nightstand. It’s eight fifteen on a Saturday. I have nowhere to be, no plans at all, and there’s a man in my bed.
I blow out a breath and bring my hand up to press against my forehead. What the heck do I do now? I’ve never, not once, had a one night stand. Are we supposed to cuddle? Spend time together? Awkwardly part ways with our heads down and proverbial tails between our legs? How do adults handle these moments in their lives?
And what does he want? Is he hoping for cuddles? Or is he going to make up and want to escape as soon as possible? Life would be so much easier if I could read people’s minds. Not that I think I’d enjoy that superpower one bit. I could ask.
I glance at him again, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest and the way he looks so relaxed and peaceful. I could wake him up and ask, but I can’t think of anything more creepy than waking him up to ask if he wants to cuddle or split.
And suddenly, I know what will solve all these problems and clear my head - coffee.
I gently slide out of his embrace and off the edge of the bed, tiptoeing away to not wake him up. With silent steps, I make my way to the bathroom to brush my teeth and splash some water on my face. The woman in the mirror looks like she’s been attacked by a wild animal - I’m glad I woke up before he did.
With a hairbrush, I comb my hair into some semblance of neatness, then run a facecloth under cold water and press the wet, chilled material to my eyes to help bring down some of the puffiness. I take my bathrobe and wrap it around my body and smile at myself in the mirror. There, I can pass for human.
Satisfied with the results of my low-effort quest to look less like a wild woman and more like a human being, I leave the bathroom while stretching my arms above my head. In the kitchen, I start the coffee maker and take a couple of mugs out of the cabinet. I mean, who doesn't want coffee, right? I’m not going to boot him out of my place - if he wants to stay for coffee, he’s welcome to do so.
“Morning,” he says from the entry of the kitchen and I turn to face him, unable to hold back a smile.
“Morning. I’m making coffee.” As if he couldn't tell by the sight, sound, and smell of coffee in the air. Sometimes I say the dumbest things.
He’s in nothing but his boxers, so I imagine he’s not bolting for the door anytime soon. And that’s fine with me. I find it curious, however, that he looks more gorgeous in the light of day.
“Thank you, but I should probably get going soon,” he says.
My heart contracts even as I remind myself that this was just a fling, not something planned. “Of course. How can I help?”
When I finally watch the door close behind him, I lock the deadbolt and sigh, leaning back against the counter like the granite can catch me from falling. What the heck was I thinking? He’d been all business when he left and now I feel stupid for the assumptions I’d made.
I walk over and put the second coffee cup back in the cabinet and decide I need to talk to a friend.
With quick steps, I make my way to my room to pick up my phone and dial Katie’s number. She won’t judge me for sleeping with him, and I need a friend right now.
“Hey, Emma, what’s up?” Katie’s cheerful voice smooths some rough edge within me.
I leave my room and make a beeline for my coffee. “I just need to talk.” She must have heard something in my voice.
“Oh, no. What happened?” Despite the worry in her voice, she still sounds so upbeat there’s no stress to her comment.
I take a sip of my coffee, staring at a vase of multicolored tulips. “Clifton and I...” How the heck do I say this? I’ve never done anything like this before. Not the one night stand part, not the coworker part, nothing.
“Clifton, your coworker, the boss’s son, and the last person you should be calling me first thing in the morning on a Saturday about Clifton?” she says as if she already knows what I’m going to tell her.
I wince. “Yeah, that Clifton.”
“Are you okay?” Her entire tone shifts and I blink back unexpected stinging tears.
