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I freeze, like a kid caught shoplifting. I turn and give him what I hope is a nice enough smile. I probably look like hell, but I’m definitely not seeing him again, so what the fuck do I care?
“Hi, um, bathroom,” I say. “You can go whenever.”
I duck into the bathroom, but there’s no way I can relax enough to get off if I think he’s listening. For a girl who hooked up with a random dude—I’m fairly sure his name is Dylan—last night, I’m surprisingly uptight about masturbation. I don’t do it on a regular basis, saving it for times when I’m particularly tense. Like when I’m expecting a good O and don’t get one.
But I can’t do it if I feel pressure, or if I think someone is listening. There’s a certain amount of relaxation necessary for any orgasm, self-induced or otherwise, and without that I can’t make it happen. At this point, touching myself is only going to make the problem worse.
I linger in the bathroom, hoping he takes the hint and leaves. He doesn’t. Apparently this guy is really clueless. Fortunately, I have a pair of yoga pants and a t-shirt in the bathroom. I give them a quick sniff—they smell decent enough—and slip them on. I’ll have to deal with going commando, because I have no idea where my panties are. I only hope I didn’t take those off in the living room too.
I decide ignoring him is my best plan, and come out of the bathroom. It’s actually a terrible plan, but I’m hoping he gets the hint, even if he didn’t before.
No one else is downstairs, for which I’m immensely grateful. I pick up our clothes, draping his on the couch in plain view of my bedroom door, so he won’t have to hunt for them when he comes out. I hope Braxton didn’t crash here last night. I feel like I’m doing the equivalent of the walk of shame, and he’ll get way too much of a kick out of it if he’s here to witness it.
The front door opens, and Selene walks in with two big coffees. “Morning, sunshine,” she says. and hands me a coffee.
“I am so in love with you right now,” I say. “Maybe we should just say fuck it all and become lesbians together.”
“There are days when that is so tempting,” she says.
I hold the coffee beneath my nose and breathe it in. My headache already feels better, just by the proximity to my only real love.
“So, did you hook up with that guy last night?” she asks.
As if on cue, the toilet flushes. My eyes widen.
Selene’s lips turn up in a sly grin. “Is that Mr. Hookup in your bathroom?”
I groan. “Yes.”
“Not a good hookup, then?”
“No,” I say, with a sad shake of my head. “He was clumsy and fast. I’m not even going to lie to you—I have the female equivalent of blue balls right now.”
“Ugh,” Selene says with a dramatic eye roll. “That’s the worst. Why didn’t you take care of it yourself?”
I shrug. “I was pretty drunk, and I fell asleep. Or passed out. Whatever. But fuck, Selene, I’m so uncomfortable.”
Dylan comes out in nothing but his underwear. He sees Selene and gives her a grin. “Hi.”
I point to the couch. “Your stuff is over there.”
He makes a show of putting his clothes back on. Selene snickers and I barely stop myself from bashing my forehead on the kitchen counter. But my head already feels like it’s going to explode, so I do not need to make it worse.
“So, do you want me to call you?” Dylan asks.
I open my mouth to reply, but I’m not sure what to say. I don’t want him to call me—not even a little bit—but I don’t think he has my number anyway. I’m trying to come up with a response that doesn’t make me sound like a total bitch when the front door bangs open and Braxton strides in.
“Hey, Brax,” Selene says. She sits on the couch with her coffee.
Braxton pauses and appraises Dylan. He’s at least four inches taller than my unfortunate hookup, and he’s blocking the way to the front door.
Dylan’s eyes move from me to Braxton a few times. I try not to die of awkwardness.
“Morning, ladies,” Braxton says.
How the fuck is he so chipper in the morning? Didn’t he get shit-faced last night, too?
“Hi,” I say, not bothering to fake morning enthusiasm any more than I faked an orgasm last night.
