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I slink out from under his arm, and although he stirs, he doesn’t wake. It’s 5:39 a.m., and I’m wide awake with worry. I should leave and give him his space to wake up in peace. Hopefully, he’ll forget about this romp, and maybe, just maybe, we can get back on track with our friendship. I’ve enjoyed the time we’ve spent together too much to throw it away on drunken escapades.
Though last night . . . yeah, that was quite enjoyable, too. I feel my face heat with embarrassment as memories of me shouting his name come to mind. God, he must think I’m such a narcissist, considering that’s my name, too. He’s going to think I’m a total freak who gets off on Charlies or, even worse, someone after his money. I knew he was from money, but I’m reminded of it again as I look around his apartment in the dim light of the early hour.
I trip over my bra, but I catch myself while stumbling. I put it on, then feel around in the dark room for my dress. I find his pants, his shoes, and his shirt before I find my clothes.
I slip the dress on over my head and let it fall into place before twisting my arm to zip it up. Shoes. I need to find my shoes. I locate them several feet apart, and they remind me of his strong hand caressing my legs and then taking my shoes off before we got even more worked up. I had already been worked up last night before we came here, but I think I held it together enough to cover my nerves.
His face is so handsome and sweet while he sleeps. But once dressed, I don’t look back at him. Because I don’t want to just look back. I want to crawl into bed and cuddle with him. That might make him feel awkward in his own home, though, and how mortifying would that be if he asked me to leave? Last night was near perfection, and I’m not willing to let the light of day mess with my memories. So I’ll protect them and leave before being asked.
I tiptoe into the hall and find my purse in the living room on the table by the door. I look around once more before sneaking out. I like his apartment, and I’m envious of his balcony. Apartments with those are hard to come by unless you pay a fortune, which by the looks of this place, he might have.
I leave the building without further debate. This is the right thing to do. It shouldn’t be, but it is. He was a willing participant last night, but I started it by asking him to kiss me, and the alcohol led to more. I just hope he forgets my forward behavior and, even more so, forgives it.
Chapter 13
Charlie A
The rustling at the end of the bed draws my attention, and the emptiness of my arm wakes me. I look toward the sound and see her standing there. Her dress slides fluidly over her head and down her body. The sun has yet to break the horizon outside the large window, but there’s enough light to see once my eyes adjust to it.
I glance at the clock, 5:45 a.m. It’s the weekend, so we could have slept in. I wanted that. I had blissful dreams with her in my arms.
Continuing to debate whether I should say something, she bends down and puts her shoes on. I should let her go. She’s embarrassed or regretful . . . the words make my chest ache. Or maybe she thinks I’m the regretful one. I don’t regret last night. I never will. I would hand over my Man Card to be able to cuddle with her for a few more minutes.
I remain silent as she ghosts around the room to gather her belongings, then disappears into the hallway. Did she not want last night? Is it going to be chalked up to a drunken mistake? It won’t for me. I remember every kiss, the feel of her skin under my fingers, her breath as it covered me, and the sound of her voice as she came apart. Anxiety fills my lungs and my heart, but I let her leave anyway.
I grab her pillow and smack it down over my face, inhaling her scent and hoping we can recover from this.
Damn! I forgot to get her phone number . . . again. It might have been the distracting nightclub or the alcohol or the kissing that made me forget my mission, but I’m irritated that I forgot all the same. Although I do know where Charlie works, it’s Saturday and she won’t be there. I contemplate calling Rachel, but there are no guarantees she’ll give it to me. Besides, I don’t want to go through her friends. I want her to give it to me, for her to want to give it to me.
