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I fell asleep.

We had the most perfect date, and then got back and I promptly fell asleep. I glance at the clock, because of course Henry Cole has an actual clock in his room, and realize it’s already nine a.m. We didn’t even get back that late. God, I slept so long.

I’m absolutely mortified.

I grab a hair tie from my bag, throwing my curls up haphazardly on top of my head, and take a quick look in the mirror above his dresser to make sure last night’s eye makeup isn’t a total disaster. It could certainly be worse. Then I make my way out into the living room.

Henry sits on the couch, in a gray long-sleeve Henley sleep shirt and flannel pajama pants, a mug in his hand. “Good morning,” he says with a smirk.

I’m grateful that he looks more amused than annoyed or disappointed, but I still cover my face with my hands.

“I ruined everything,” I say, my palms muffling the sound. “I don’t know what happened.”

He smiles. “You fell asleep.”

“I mean, it’s really your fault for having such a nice bed. I didn’t stand a chance.”

Henry places his mug on the coffee table and strides toward me. He lightly touches my wrists, bringing them away from my face to make room for his own hands. He strokes my jaw with his thumbs before descending on my mouth. He tastes bitter and heavenly, the dark roast from his mug laced on his tongue as it dances with mine. I feel like I’m getting caffeinated just by kissing him, and my mouth trails up with his as he breaks away.

“It’s okay, Norah. We have plenty of time. Frankly, I’m glad you slept.”

“Did you take off my shoes?” I ask, and he nods.

“I didn’t want to wake you up, and it felt a little creepy to try to put you into pajamas, but I couldn’t have shoes on the bed, even if they belonged to Norah Gold.”

He walks over to the kitchen, then brings me back a mug. I feel ridiculous, standing in his living room in a walk-of-shame ensemble that disappointedly didn’t even earn its title, but I’m grateful for the coffee.

“Can I shower?” I ask, suddenly feeling beyond gross.

“Of course,” he says, walking back toward the couch. “I have nowhere to be. And no expectations,” he adds hurriedly, as if he needed to make it clear.

“Maybe you should,” I call over my shoulder as I head out of the room. I hear him let out a shaky breath just before I turn the water on.

* * *

I open the glass door of the spacious shower and mentally decide I’m never leaving. The water pressure is delicious, and I’m grateful to have my bag with me after all, pulling out a shower cap to keep my hair dry. I wash my face and get rid of the remnants of black eyeliner and mascara with the only makeup remover that doesn’t burn my eyes. I quickly down the coffee, then brush my teeth.

I decide that post-shower, I have a lost night to make up for, so instead of getting dressed in real clothes, I step into the lacy black thong and matching see-through bra I’d packed. My hair is probably unsalvageable, but it looks fine in this messy bun at my crown, so I leave it.

I step out of the bathroom in my lingerie, and I swear Henry nearly drops his coffee mug.

“Fuck, Norah.” He takes a sharp breath in through his nose, gives his head one shake, and then stands. He approaches me slowly, as if any sudden movement might scare me away. Or maybe he’s just trying to pace himself, the bulge in his pajama pants instantly more prominent.

“I thought we might have some unfinished business from last night,” I say once he’s in front of me, his eyes unable to stop raking over my body.

Henry’s lips pull into a barely-there line, disappearing into his mouth. He cocks an eyebrow at me and pulls the same move I used on him the first time we undressed completely together, raising his index finger in the air and gesturing for me to spin around. I comply, making a slow circle around myself. Henry’s hands are by his sides, fingers flexing like he’s Mr. fucking Darcy.

“Did you…” Henry trails off, his voice shaky in a way that makes me feel incredibly powerful.

“Did I what, Hen? Put this on just for you?”

He shakes his head once, eyes dipping down. “No. I mean yes, that, Christ, Norah, but no. Did you check your email?”

I momentarily drop the whole sexpot act because why on earth is he bringing that up at a time like this? “No, I didn’t check my email,” I say, frustrated. “I’m trying to seduce you.”

Henry’s tongue glides over his lips, seemingly having regained the upper hand. “Check your email.”

I cross my arms over my chest, and he looks briefly disappointed that I’ve covered my tits. “I come out like this and that’s what you want to say to me? What could possibly be so important in my email that it warrants—” I’m ranting as he walks over to the counter and hands me my phone. I roll my eyes, unlocking the screen and clicking on my mail app. The emails load, a slew of end-of-the-year sales spam.