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1
Chelsea
My eyes opened to darkness, and the smell of stale sweat drifted into my nostrils. As I stretched across the bed, my hand encountered flesh. Hard, male flesh.
Not again.
I sat up gingerly and peered at the man sleeping next to me. Short dark hair, five o’clock shadow. He was cute, and totally my type. Too bad I couldn’t remember his name. Last night was a total blur.
As I stood up, he stirred in his sleep. I froze, afraid he’d wake up. I couldn’t deal with an awkward morning-after conversation right now. Luckily, all he did was let out a groan as he sank back into the pillow. Obviously the alcohol had sent him into a deep sleep—lucky him. For my part, I could feel the first budding of the excruciating headache that always came with my hangovers.
I tossed a shirt from the floor over his eyes and flipped on the light. A flashback came to me—him stripping off that shirt with a grin before lowering me onto the bed last night. It had been such a thrill. At the time.
With the light on, I could see the specks of mold on the walls and the thin layer of grime that covered everything in the room. Ugh… drunk me had the worst taste. My stomach rolled as I scanned the room for my panties.
How had I let this happen? I’d been out drinking with my friends. To be honest, I’d drunk more than usual, using the buzz to hide my emotions. I didn’t want anyone to know how upset I was over Alec.
That had backfired, seeing as now I was even more upset with myself. My body was sore, as if whatever-his-name-was had handled me roughly. I couldn’t even remember if I’d liked it or not. The area between my legs would be raw all day—a reminder of my fuck-up.
The guy—Chad, maybe? Brad?—had been with a group of guys, and they’d started chatting us up. It’d been fun at first. We’d played darts, and I owned them. I kicked ass at any kind of bar game. Brad picked up the tab for that round, and it slowly became clear his general flirtatiousness toward everyone in our group was really focused on me.
I’d gotten stars in my eyes. It seemed so romantic, like it was meant to happen. I’d babbled on and on about my life. I might have even opened up about what happened with Alec.
I thought it would be such a perfect how-we-met story to tell at our wedding.We lived our whole lives in the same town, less than a ten-minute drive away, and yet we didn’t meet until I was 22 and he was 26. I knew from the moment I saw him that he was everything I wanted in a man—smart, witty, caring. He swept me off my feet…
And then he took me back here and gave me the same mediocre, emotionless fucking as every other guy—and promptly flipped over and fell asleep.
Spotting a pair of underwear below the bed, I reached for it. Wait, I’d been wearing a blue thong last night. These were pink. And… bikini cut.Gross.Brad had had another girl in here and didn’t even bother to get rid of her stuff.
Well, it was fine if he was gross. He wasn’t going to get a second “date,” anyway. I just wished I’d known that before I slept with him.
I continued my hunt, eventually finding the thong kicked on top of a pile of dirty laundry. And I meandirty. My nose wrinkled as I picked my thong up. I might as well throw it out, it was contaminated by the grossness of the clothes it had spent the night with. But then, what did that say about me?
Something had to change. I couldn’t keep doing this to myself, catching feelings for every man who looked my way. I’d given up my body over and over again, and I had yet to have a proper boyfriend. At best, my one-night stands turned into friends with benefits.
I loved sex. But I needed more than that.
Once I’d pulled a semblance of an outfit together, I headed outside for an all-too-familiar ride of shame. I trampled through the fall leaves, then kept my head low as I stepped into the Uber. The driver had to know why girls got picked up from residential addresses at eight am on a Sunday, wearing a party dress and smeared make-up.
Avoiding his eyes in the rearview mirror, I opened my phone. The group chat with my friends had gone crazy! Thirty unread messages. I smiled slightly as I opened it. Surely my friends would have some kind words for me.
Lora: Chelsea scores AGAIN! I hate this bitch!
Ivy: That guy was h-a-w-t. Tell me how you do it!
Deanne: She’s not answering. Must be too busy in poundtown.
Ivy: Damn, girl. Save some for the rest of us.
My heart lurched as I scrolled through the messages, and I let out a sigh. Did these girls really think it was all about sex for me? Did they thinkIwas all about sex? Sometimes it seemed like they misread me so completely.
My fingers tapped on the screen.Good morning.
Deanne: She’s alive!
Lora: You thought the dick sent her straight to heaven?
I grimaced.Stop, just stop.At least that got them to pay attention.
