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“Are you as dedicated to lunch and dinner as you are to breakfast?”
“I’m dedicated to food, full stop, but breakfast is my favorite meal of the day. I don’t know how it’s not everyone’s favorite meal.”
Owen’s cell sounds with a text that he ignores. “Do you still want what you decided on last night or have you changed your mind?”
“I haven’t changed my mind.”
Two more texts arrive for him, at which point he says, “Sorry, I have to check these. And then I’ll order breakfast.”
He leaves the bed and uses the bathroom before exiting the bedroom to check his messages.
I take the opportunity to go to the bathroom while he’s on his phone. I also take the opportunity to calm the nerves that are making themselves known.
This is the part I hate about one-night stands.
The morning after.
Not that I’ve had that many one-night stands, but when I do, I don’t find them like they seem to be in the movies and books. I’m not as able to just wake up and pick up where we left off the night before. Not even if the sex was as amazing as it was with Owen. I tend to wake feeling a little awkward.
I mean, sure, Owen’s had his face up close to my vagina. He’s fucked me on a table, in a bed, and on my hands and knees on the floor. He’s said filthy, filthy things to me. He knows secrets of mine that no one besides Poppy knows. But prior to that all happening last night, we were strangers. I really don’t know the guy, so there’s a lot of overthinking happening right now.
Should I shower?
Should I not?
I’m naked and we’re going to have breakfast. That requires clothes. Or does it?
Where did I leave my dress?
And my bra?
And let’s not forget that Owen pocketed my thong. I’m going to need that back.
And good God, my hair.
I stare at it in the mirror, assessing the bird’s nest it is. How am I going to fix that without tools?
Not to mention my face.
I peer closer.
Is that a pimple coming up?
Jesus, no.
See,thisis why one-night stands are the worst in my opinion.
The freaking morning after.
I take a deep breath and comb my fingers through my hair before splashing my face with water. I then spy Owen’s toothpaste and swipe some over my teeth.
I can’t have breakfast with Owen.
I might love breakfast, and I might really like Owen, and he might have given me the best sex I’ve ever had, and he might be a thoughtful and attentive guy (sexy and charismatic too), but I can’t stay.
I need the safety of my room.
I can eat all the breakfast I want in my room without all this overthinking.
