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She grips one of my biceps and flashes an admiring smile. “I think you could take him.” Then she kisses me. Our tongues tease one another a few moments, before she lays her head back on the pillow and closes her eyes.
A second later, she’s out. Sound asleep; her breath heavy and deep.
As a man, you’ve hit the jackpot when you meet a woman who falls asleep faster after sex than you do.
I carefully unwrap her fingers from the stem of her wine glass and set it on the nightstand, then drain my own and settle down on the bed beside her. Big-spoon style. It’s nice. Usually, my trysts are of the dine-and-dash variety. No sooner has someone come, does one of us try to get out the door while making false promises to text soon.
I try to remember the last time I shared a bed with someone for the night. Had to be Gillian, the media mogul’s daughter I was with a few years ago. That was my last long term ‘relationship’. Except after we had sex, she’d spend half an hour on her phone, then fall asleep as far away from me as she could get in my California King. If I tried to cuddle with her, she’d complain about being hot, or being a light sleeper, or something. Eventually I stopped trying.
Natalie doesn’t move as I pull myself close to her. If anything, I think her body adjusts in her sleep, pressing into mine. My eyes start to close. It’d be super easy to fall asleep like this, curled up with her…
I force my eyes back open. People think sleeping with someone you’ve just fucked is dangerous. But it’s not the sleeping part that’s dangerous. It’s waking up the next morning that leads to drama. Doesn’t really seem like the right thing to do in this situation.
I find my sopping wet underwear and pants, and wring them out. Then I yank them on, still wet, and throw on my shirt, half-buttoned. I gather the rest of my clothes in my arms and slip my sockless feet into my shoes. One nice thing about a good fuck with someone in your own building? Not having to worry about the ‘walk of shame’ — just put on the essentials, pop into the elevator, and come out at your penthouse.
When the elevator lets me off at my place, I get the odd sense there’s something… empty about it. Different than when I left this morning. Eh, I chalk it up to the combined effects of the wine and my post-coital haze.
My own bedroom’s view of the city through my floor-to-ceiling windows give me an even more expansive sight of the skyline. I take it in as I strip naked and sit on my bed.
What do they say?A million naked stories out there in the big city?Right now, I’m only thinking of one naked story, asleep a few floors below me. I feel kind of guilty for sneaking out. Not that I was. But what if she thinks that’s what I did?
Dammit, I should’ve left a note.
The phone says it’s only ten o’clock. Giuseppe’s shop would’ve just closed. I might still catch him. I try the store, but get the voicemail, so I call his cell directly.
“Ciao, signorZane.”
“Ciao,Giuseppe. You still at the shop by any chance?”
“Yes. You see, there was a clumsy lady who spilled half my inventory…”
“I covered that, Giuseppe.”
“Sure, but I don’t remember you picking up a broom.”
“Broom, broom,” I repeat thoughtfully. “I’ve heard of such a thing. That’s what witches ride, right?”
“It’s also what wine store owners use to beat their landlords over the head.”
“Landlordandbest customer,” I remind him. Then I get to the point. “Speaking of which, I need a favor…”
