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There’s so much I want to say, but it’s too soon.
I know that, yet it doesn’t stop the words from wanting to come tumbling out. To prevent them, I open my lips to the gentle pressure of her tongue and lose myself into our kiss.
***
At some point, we must have fallen asleep. The room is completely dark when I wake up. I’m also naked, a condom tacky against my thigh. In a moment everything rushes back to me, and my hand searches for Brittany, finding only cool sheets.
Lurching upright, I scramble from the bed, turning on the lights. Not only is she gone, but all her clothes are as well. I peel the spent condom from my leg, heaving it in the bathroom's direction while grabbing a clean pair of boxers out of the dresser. My footsteps thunder across the hardwood flooring, my heart in my throat as I search for Brittany.
She’s nowhere in the house. A peek out the window confirms no vehicles are in my driveway.
What happened?
Groaning, I trudge back to my bedroom and sink down onto the edge of the bed, my hands cradling my pounding head. Matt had given me tips about not calling too soon. Was there a rule about not sleeping together too early in the relationship as well?
What had she asked? -was the dog park our first date? How could I call what we had a relationship when our boundaries hadn’t been established? Nothing had been talked about, other than we liked each other.
Like?
That word means nothing compared to how I feel. And it probably is all one-sided. Why would someone young and vibrant like Brittany want to be with a boring older guy like me? Last night might have simply been a booty call. She joked about it on my end, but perhaps it was what she really wanted.
My fist smacks down onto my thigh, the pain radiating throughout my leg. No. I refuse to believe that.
I grab for my phone, needing to call her, needing to understand what happened, when the message icon stops my rapid downward spiral into misery.
A message from Brittany
BRITTANY: Sorry to leave you like that. Didn’t want to wake you and couldn’t spend the night. I locked your door on my way out. Talk soon. Last night was, yeah… a hot emoji and a pair of lips end her message and does more to relieve me than the message itself does.
My fingers fly over my phone, and I hit send before I can overthink things.
GRANT: Last night was perfect. You’re perfect.
Rereading it, I grimace. It may be true, but it comes across as a tad obsessive and maybe rather desperate on my part. I should have scaled it back.
