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I stretch my body. I’m not sure why, but every inch of me is sore. Then I remember what happened last night. Everything that happened, every single moment. And my body begins to heat.
Oh my god.
Opening my eyes, I suck in a breath, turning my head to look over at Elvis, but he’s not there. I’m alone. I sit up and lean my back against the headboard as I sink my teeth into my bottom lip and look around the room.
He’s not here.
Nobody is here, not anywhere else in my little apartment either. I know he isn’t going to pop out of the living room. I can tell I’m alone.
I don’t know how I feel about that.
I want to be okay with him leaving without saying anything. But inside, I wanted him to stay. I wanted this to be the start of something spectacular, even if I knew it wouldn’t be.
Throwing my legs over the side of the bed, I stand up and move toward the bathroom. I wince at the soreness between my legs. I wasn’t a virgin, but for as long as it’s been since I was with someone, I might as well have been. It feels like after the first time.
When I’m finished, I stand and waddle toward my dresser to grab a tank and shorts. After pulling them on with another whimper, I move through my apartment to my living room and then my kitchen.
Reaching for the door of the fridge, I tug it open and slip my arm inside for a bottle of water on the top shelf. Although there isn’t much else in there, so I don’t have to search very hard. It’s the one and only thing I come into contact with.
As I take a long drink of water, I glance around the apartment and wonder where the hell he went, but then I tell myself that I need to realize he isn’t a man who spends the night. In fact, I may never see him again. He’s a one-and-done kind of man, and I knew that before we did anything, even if I didn’t want to believe it.
And I really didn’t want to believe it.
I threw caution to the wind and went with my feelings instead of my head. It was stupid, and I shouldn’t have done it. I’ll probably regret it. But in the moment, it felt amazing, and I’m going to give myself that one thing. Call it a mistake that a normal twenty-three-year-old might make and move on… hopefully.
Once I drink my water, I quickly shower and dress for the day, trying to forget about the night before. The amazing night before. I fail.
The sun isn’t even up yet, but I have a bakery to open, even if I won’t see a single customer. I hope I can be consistent enough that someone someday will discover my bakery… someday soon, that is.
Really soon.
If they don’t by next month, I’m done for. Elvis’s money will only go so far, and as much as I appreciate that he paid me more than I asked, it won’t last me long. I need to build my customer base, and I still don’t know how to do that. Nothing I’ve tried works.
As I walk down the sidewalk toward the bakery, it aches between my legs with each step I take. I can’t believe I allowed that to happen, that we had sex. And he just left in the middle of the night.
God. I’m such a walking cliché.
I wanted it.
I wanted him to touch me, to kiss me, to do anything and everything to me. I would have accepted just about anything from him, and deep down inside, I knew it was a one-time thing.
I wanted more, though.
I was hoping against hope that he did, too.
I was naive.
I am naive.
Continuing to move, I try not to think about everything that happened last night… everything that happened three times. God. I’m the biggest idiot on earth. The more I think about it, the more reckless I feel.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I try to fight the tears, but they fill my eyes and eventually roll down my cheeks. They aren’t tears of sadness as much as they’re tears of frustration. I am so angry at myself for allowing my body to be taken advantage of the way it was.
I shouldn’t have.
What I should have done is told him no about a million more times.
But I was a chase.
