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I carry her to the bed, brush my teeth, wash my face, take out my contacts, lay down next to her.
Fall asleep next to her.
An obnoxious beep fills the room.
It goes again. Again. Again.
Fucking alarm.
I blink my eyes open. Squint at the bright light flowing through the window. Not that I can make anything out. I’m blind as a bat without my glasses.
Leighton’s fingers dig into my t-shirt as she stirs. Her eyelids flutter open. Her blue-green eyes meet mine. A dopey smile spreads across her face.
Then she snaps up, blinks, shakes her head like she just woke from a weird dream. “Shit.” She pulls her hand to her side, pushes herself up, slides out of bed. “What times is it?”
I reach for my cell. “Seven.”
“You get up at seven?”
“Not normally.”
“You set an alarm for me?”
What else would I do? “You have class at eight.”
“Oh. Thanks.” She smooths her sundress. “Am I really doing the walk of shame again?”
“Some of your shit is here. Check the closet.”
“Really?” Surprise drips into her voice.
“You’re the one who left it.”
“Thanks.” She moves to the closet, pulls the door open, pores over her options. She decides on something, but I’m not sure what it is beyond a black blur. “I’m gonna shower super-fast.”
“You want breakfast?”
“No. I should leave now.”
“Coffee?”
“I can get some on campus.”
Fuck that. But I don’t have time to object. She’s already out of the room. The bathroom door—the one across the hall—presses shut.
Clothes hit the floor.
The shower turns on.
I move through my morning routine, dress, fix her favorite French roast.
The shower turns off.
I press my back against the counter. Then my palms. There’s something about Leighton coming out of my shower, some intimacy there.
Different than before.
Fuck, last night was the first time another woman slept in that bed.
