One
My eyes snap open when I feel the soft puffs of warm air against the back of my neck. That same warm air causes a shiver to roll through me just before shame sets in. I curl into myself as the guilt of last night’s events flash through my memory, when a hand suddenly palms the curve of my hip, trapping me in this bed. I’m spooning a stranger. Technically, a stranger is spooning me. A handsome stranger as I recall, one I willingly had sex with last night, but a stranger nonetheless.
Drew.
He said his name was Drew.
I can feel his bare legs curving into the back of my knees, and his hard as hell washboard abs pressing against my back. But it’s his rock hard— “Jesus,” I hiss when my phone buzzes on the nightstand, startling me. It’s the buzzing phone that steals my attention from his long, thick member pressed against my bottom. I reach for the phone carefully, pulling away from all the body parts this man has pressed against me. The phone continues to buzz as I strain for it, and my heart rate kicks into high gear when Drew shifts behind me, pulling me even tighter to him.
Please don’t wake up. Please don’t wake up…
My fingers nudge the phone to the edge of the nightstand where I can finally get my full hand around it and pull it to me. Pressing my thumb against the home button, I launch the phone to life and instantly notice the crazy amount of text messages I’ve missed, all of them—except for one—from Jamie. My best friend and co-worker who got me into the shenanigans that led me here…in Drew’s bed, at a swanky Midtown Manhattan hotel. I should be home in my shitty Brooklyn apartment.
1:07am: Jamie – Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do…which means DO IT. He’s hot and I’m 99% sure he’s not a serial killer.
1:15am: Jamie – Use protection though. I’m not worried that he’s going to kill you, but I am worried he might give you herpes…or a kid.
1:23am: Jamie – I also want details tomorrow. Specific. Details. Comprende?
5:30am: Jamie – You didn’t text me that you made it home. Are you alive?
5:31am: Jamie – Gracie. Answer me.
5:32 am: Jamie – Oh, god. He killed you.
5:33am: Jamie – There better be a good reason you’re not answering me. Are you having morning sex?
5:35am: Jamie – Gracie. This is bad, isn’t it? TEXT ME BACK.
6:23am: Jamie – Shit. Marisol just called. Urgent work meeting at 8:30. Text me ASAP.
7:01am: Mom – Happy birthday to my best girl. I hope you had a wonderful night with Jamie. I’m so thankful you have such a great friend. I miss you and love you dearly.
I glance at the clock, 7:03am. Guilt continues to roll through me thinking of my mom texting me birthday wishes while I lie with a naked, albeit hot-as-fuck stranger wrapped around me. Happy birthday to me. I pinch my eyes closed, trying to remember last night’s events in specific detail. One drink. Then two. Then a shot. Then another drink. Laughing, a whole ton of flirting, and then sex. A lot of sex.
I type out a quick text to Jamie: I’m alive. Just woke up. I’ll be at the office in 45 minutes.
Glancing at the alarm clock on the nightstand, I do my best to wiggle out of Drew’s grasp. His breathing is heavy, telling me he’s sound asleep, and I’m thankful for that. My toes dig into the plush carpet as I gently slide out of the bed and hustle across the room to the bathroom, picking up my undergarments and purse as I go. Quietly sliding the large pocket door closed, I make quick work of my hair, wrapping the long, dark tresses into a bun on top of my head. I step into the shower and take the fastest one I’ve ever taken in hopes I can wash away any hints of sweat, sex, cologne, and booze still lingering on me.
Patting myself dry, I wrap a large towel around myself and spot Drew’s toothbrush and toothpaste on the counter. My hands shake as I hesitate for half a second before squeezing a generous string of toothpaste onto the bristles and scrub my teeth clean. This is a new low for me, using the toothbrush of my one-night stand.
Silently, I praise myself for keeping some make-up samples in my oversized purse. Brushing my cheeks with blush and my eyelashes with a heavy coat of mascara, I finish with a quick dab of red lipstick and give myself an approving smile in the mirror. I can’t believe I’ve almost pulled off a look that doesn’t give the appearance that I just crawled out of a stranger’s hotel bed in Manhattan.
Sliding into my panties and fastening my bra, I leave the towel in a pile on the bathroom floor. I wiggle into the same black pencil skirt I wore yesterday and glance at the red silk blouse sitting wrinkled on the floor, a reminder of last night’s adventures. I can’t help but sigh. How the hell am I going to pull off wearing the exact same outfit I wore to the office yesterday? Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see a crisp white dress shirt hanging on the back of the bathroom door still in the thin plastic bag, which tells me it was recently laundered and pressed.
I rip the bag from the shirt and wince at the noise the plastic makes. Sliding the starched fabric off the hanger, I pull it over my arms and button the oversized shirt, tucking the long length into my black skirt. I roll the sleeves carefully and decide to leave the top three buttons undone, giving the appearance the shirt is supposed to be wide-collared and feminine. I smile at myself in the mirror, not believing I was able to pull this off.
Sliding the bathroom door open, I pause, taking in the sight of Drew, last name unknown, sleeping peacefully with a white sheet twisted around his waist. His tan skin and dark hair are a stark contrast to the white sheet, comforter, and pillows he’s encased in. My heart races and I’m relieved he’s still sleeping. I’ve never had a one-night stand before, and I’m not prepared to have an awkward morning-after conversation. What do people say anyway? Thanks for last night? See ya around? No thanks. This morning will just be me high-tailing my embarrassed ass out of this hotel room, thankful I’ll never have to see him again.
I tiptoe quietly across the room to the door, twisting the handle slowly to avoid any sounds or chance of waking the hunk of a man in the bed. Swallowing back my regret, I remember our deal: “One night, no strings attached.” I remember that sexy smirk of his when I said that. With one last glance over my shoulder, I take in the sight of the sexiest mistake I’ve ever made.
Two
It’s just after eight in the morning when I slide into my office chair and power up my computer. I kick off my black heels and open my desk drawer, pulling out a pair of nude heels, and slip into those. I’ve never been more grateful that I always keep spare accessories and shoes at work for last-minute client meetings or after-work drinks. It’s amazing what a change of jewelry and shoes can do to change up an outfit.
It’s hard not to notice Jamie coming down the hall, with her oversized Louis Vuitton bag hanging from her shoulder while she balances a cup of coffee in each hand, a giant smirk on her face.
I ignore her and punch my password into my computer, launching the home screen. I know Jamie is about to grill me on the details of last night, and I groan inwardly, just wanting to forget last evening’s indiscretion. I click on the envelope icon and my email springs to life, filling my inbox with unread emails. A cardboard cup suddenly appears in front of my face just as Jamie drops her designer bag to the floor and slides her butt across my desk, crossing her legs. She rolls her perfectly manicured fingernails on my desk but doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t need to. Her face says it all. It screams, “Tell me every last detail and don’t leave anything out.”