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“We can go inside now?” I asked.
“We can.” He slapped me on the ass and I giggled.
I had never done anything so explosively impulsive. What if someone had heard us? What if on the way to work I ran into one of the neighbors who knew I had sex in the hallway?
I let us into the apartment, tossing my purse on the couch. I walked to the kitchen to pour us both glasses of water. Vaughn peeled the clothes from his body and walked into the bedroom as if he had always lived here.
I followed him and watched as he lifted the comforter and crawled into my bed naked. I blinked.
He patted my side of the bed. “Coming?”
I nodded. I slid the dress off my body and moved in next to him. He brought me into his arms and against the hard planes of his chest. He kissed the back of my head and within minutes had fallen asleep.
I stared at the ceiling in disbelief. His hands were wrapped against my bare skin as he fell into a steady rhythm of breathing. I inhaled deeply and let myself relax. I closed my eyes and fell asleep.
Chapter Twelve
I flipped to the next open page in my journal. I looked at the last date and realized it had been two weeks since I had written. I leaned into the pile of pillows on my bed. I had a night to myself.
Vaughn said his business trip would be short. It was an overnight.
I had papers to grade. I had cases to study. I needed to submit a report to Max. And all I could think about was the cold shallow spot in my bed. I had turned to my journal, thinking I could focus on something other than how much I missed him. In only a few short weeks he had become a constant craving.
I kicked the covers in frustration, and marched to the kitchen to pour a glass of wine.
The dishes from last night’s dinner were stacked on the counter. I closed my eyes, remembering how Vaughn had kept me from putting them away. The chills ran up my arm and down my spine.
That’s what I should write about. How Vaughn had infected me with some kind of sexual intoxication. I was a different woman than the one who had moved to D.C.
It wasn’t that the boxes were unpacked and all my clothes hung in the closet. Or that I knew my way around the Metro and campus. Those things had come with time. Each day I walked through my new life, they became a part of it.
I should write about how something tugged and pulled me toward Vaughn. How I could look at him and feel the current running between us. It defied logic. He had awakened me. Brought happiness when everything else was muddled and gray.
I didn’t know how he’d done it. I had dated other men I knew more about than Vaughn. It seemed by the third date I had a complete history on their favorite sports teams, who they voted for the first time, and every place they had gone on summer vacation as a kid. They weren’t afraid to hand over their biographies. They were scared to death to hand over themselves. The distance they kept wasn’t in a list of personal accomplishments or sharing every opinion that occurred to them. The distance came from under their skin. From time they could give. From fear that feelings for me would cripple their lives.
The irony was that Vaughn was the opposite side of the coin. I knew him better than any man who had been in my bed.
I curled under the covers and rested the wine glass next to the bed.
Instead of picking up my journal I reached for my laptop. It had been a month. More than a month, and I had resisted all my instincts to research Vaughn. Until now.
I didn’t have all the details. I didn’t have a picture of his past or the experiences of his life. I was selfish, but I wanted them.
I typed his name into the Facebook search bar. I waited for his picture to pop up.
Nothing.
I scrunched my nose and tried Instagram and lastly Twitter.
Nothing.
I started an internet search next. I came up empty. Vaughn Hunter didn’t show up anywhere.
I closed the computer and sat back. I realized not all guys liked to be on social media. And they liked being tagged and linked even less. He was a private person. I knew that. But I chewed my bottom lip, trying to figure out how I would ask him about it.
I couldn’t mention it without revealing I had tried to find him.
The question I had to answer for myself was, what difference did it make? Did it matter if I couldn’t find pictures of Vaughn online? Maybe I was spared the awkward pain of seeing him with an ex-girlfriend. What would I get out of scrolling through pictures of him with another woman?
