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But for now, I must put on a brave face and immerse myself in the world of retail, folding clothes and helping customers with their fashion and homeware needs.
Pulling my pjs off, I enter the shower after peeing and brushing my teeth. As the hot water hits my tender skin, I sigh, my thoughts heavy with longing and loss. Last night, fueled by one too many drinks, I succumbed to the charms of a handsome stranger at a club. The memory of his heated gaze makes me tremble, but I completely regret my decision.
I’ve tarnished my own image in my own eyes. Yet, despite the shame, I can’t deny that there’s a part of me that yearns for more excitement – more danger.
Ugh! Why did I have to go and do something so reckless?
He represented everything my life had been lacking: passion, excitement, and the thrill of the unknown. It’s a dangerous path to tread, but the temptation is almost too much to bear. And though I know I should forget about him and move on, there’s a part of me that wonders if he might be the key to unlocking the life I’ve always dreamt of.
Knowing it’s futile and I’ll never see him again, he taunts me with the forbidden desire that wants to conquer me entirely.
Finishing in the shower, I dry off and get dressed, glancing at the clock and remembering that I have to work a double shift today. There’s no time to wallow in self-pity or regret. With a heavy heart, I pull on my store uniform – a black polo shirt and khaki pants – and pour myself a to-go cup of coffee, grabbing a slice of bread and throwing a slice of ham on it as my breakfast as I don’t even have time for toast. Heading out the door, my name tag bobbing as I shut it, juggling my coffee and makeshift sandwich, I throw my head back with a loud curse.
“Fuck!”
This appears to be my go-to word this morning, but now it really isfuck.
My car is in the shop.
I’m going to have to bus it and probably end up late.
I’d completely forgotten with the thoughts of the anonymous one-nighter filling my every thought.
Trudging through the bright morning, hoping the forecasted thunderstorms will finally show up later and break this heat, I head for the bus stop, hoping I get to work on time.
Luck is on my side as the bus pulls up at the exact moment I reach the stop, so climbing aboard, I pay my fare and sit down to finish the remnants of my paltry breakfast, my stomach protesting as the bus jerks away from the curb.
Today is going to be hellish.
Half an hour later, and not a moment too soon, I race into the store, brushing down my clothes.
“Morning, Summer,” my coworker Jess greets me. “Ready for another fun-filled day?”
“Thrilled,” I reply sarcastically, forcing a smile. We exchange pleasantries, but my mind is elsewhere, filled with shame and lingering thoughts of Irish. That’s his name now. I can’t keep thinking of him as a stranger. It’s unappealing and makes me edgy.
“Hey, are you okay?” Jess asks concern etched on her face. “You seem off.”
“Long night,” I admit, not wanting to divulge the details of my one-night stand. “Just need more coffee, I guess.”
“Ah, the hangover cure-all,” she jokes, attempting to lighten the mood. “Well, hang in there. You’ve got this.”
“Thanks, Jess,” I say, grateful for her support.
Foregoing more coffee on my delicate stomach, I get straight to work, needing the distraction. But as I fold clothes and help customers, Irish’s face haunts me. His touch lingers on my skin like a phantom caress, stirring up a risky mix of desire and guilt.
Stop it, Summer.You can’t keep torturing yourself over one stupid mistake.
Trouble is, I can. My guilt and shame know no bounds, having been nurtured by Aunt Margaret most days of the week as I was growing up. My thoughts spiral, wrestling with the contradiction of wanting to forget him and needing to cling to the memory of our electrifying connection.
I force my attention back to work, determined not to let my personal turmoil affect my performance. Customers come and go, their questions and needs pulling me out of my head for brief moments. But each time the store quiets down, the ghost of Irish returns, taunting me with his memory.
As the hours drag on, my feet ache from standing, my head pounds, and I’m hungry at the same time as nauseous. I wonder if my one reckless night with the enigmatic Irishman might somehow be a twisted blessing in disguise – a chance to break free from the shackles of my mundane existence and embrace the tantalizing allure of danger and desire.
As I finish restocking the shelves and return to the sales floor, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m teetering on the edge of something life-changing. Despite knowing I should forget about Irish and move on with my life, part of me wonders if our paths will cross again – and what dark secrets he’s hiding beneath that charming exterior.
5
SUMMER
