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“I’m okay,” I told them. “Just a few too many drinks last night, I guess.” It wasn’t really true; I had been tipsy, but not drunk. Still, I needed an excuse for being in such a fog.
Anything to keep them off my case.
Trudy gave me a knowing nod. Larissa squinted, assessing me, but seemed to buy my story in the end.
At least for now.
“Well, why don’t you come with me to the gym?” Larissa suggested. “Sweat it out. Best thing for a hangover. That, and fried eggs with hot sauce.”
I made a gagging noise. “Yuck, no.”
Larissa chuckled on her way back to her room.
Trudy patted me comfortingly on the shoulder. “Just make sure to drink plenty of water,” she said with a nurturing smile.
“I will.”
After finishing my breakfast and placing my bowl in the dishwasher, I retreated to my bedroom and shut the door. My body was sore, and I was tired. So, I curled up for a nap, drifting off to thoughts of last night.
It took me a while to fall asleep.
— — —
I had only been in my position as a radiation therapist for six months. It was a good job and a noble vocation administering radiation treatments to cancer patients and people with other illnesses. I had worked hard through a rigorous two-year training program to become certified. After school, I began applying for jobs, and I was proud when my top choice employer hired me.
Working at University Hospital was still new, and I needed to put my best foot forward. That meant planning and prepping everything carefully before the work week, so I could stay focused and give the best care I could possibly deliver to my patients.
Sundays were always meal-prep days. I grilled some chicken and veggies for the week, sorted them into containers to store in the fridge, then got to work on preparing jars full of overnight oats and berries.
On top of meals, I had a list of housework and errands to complete before the week, plus a whole mountain of laundry to finish by the end of the day.
It was eight o’clock before I realized just how behind schedule I was, and it dawned on me the reason why.
Nathaniel.
I couldn’t get my mind off him. He was there when I was tossing my clothes into the washing machine, after I found the thong I had worn last night, and realized I barely had the heart to launder it. He was there when I was picking up my room and putting away my expensive stilettos in the closet, remembering how he deftly avoided snagging my panties on the heels.
Everything reminded me of him.
My first, my long-time crush.
How could I get such a mind-blowing experience out of my head? It had been my first time–with my father’s best friend–and he made me come twice.
I had plenty of friends who had recounted disappointing experiences their first time having sex, with most being mediocre at best.
Nathaniel, on the other hand, had taken care of me. Made sure I felt good the whole time.
He possessed the experience and, frankly, had the practice to know what to do and how to make it good for both of us.
I realized how lucky I had been.
After that, I might be ruined for any other man.
Yet I didn’t want another man. I wanted Nathaniel, again and again. I had been thinking about him all day, distracted while I tried to finish all of my Sunday night tasks.
I had to find a way to see him again.
Alone.
