I thought he was different. I told him I liked him. I gave away the milk, and now he was breaking free.
God, I was an idiot.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
“Yes,” I said, through gritted teeth. “I’m sure you’re very sorry.”
Worry lines formed on his forehead. “What’s wrong?”
Seriously? I couldn’t believe he was going to make me spell this out for him. In that case, I wanted to be crystal clear.
“We fucked all night, and you were just about to take off without saying goodbye.”
“No!” He looked horrified. “No, that’s not... Oh, shit, I’m sorry.” At once, he was next to me, on the bed, his hands grasping at mine. “I am so sorry. I can see why it would seem that way, but I didn’t want to wake you up. You looked so peaceful and happy lying there. For what it’s worth, I wrote you a note.” He pointed to my nightstand, where a piece of paper sat on top of the clutter.
Reluctantly, I reached for it. A note was better than nothing, I guess, but I certainly wasn’t thrilled about it. It read:
Mel,
Headed to work now. Had an amazing time last night. Thanks for everything.
Text you later,
A
“You’re working on a Sunday?”
“I work every Sunday. Every Saturday, too. There’s no such thing as weekends when you’re trying to launch a start-up. And I didn’t want to leave in such a rush, but I accidentally overslept, and I promised Vijay I’d get him the results of this load test today, and I’ve got so much to do before I can make that happen.”
He raked his hand through his hair, that panicky look returning to his eyes. And I realized that look had nothing to do with getting caught in a smash-and-dash. He was legit terrified of losing his funding.
“I get it,” I said, squeezing his hand.
“Thanks.” He smiled, visibly relieved. “I had such a great time last night.”
“Me, too. Sorry for freaking out on you.”
“Don’t be. I’m sorry I made you freak out.” He slid his hands around the back of my neck, rubbing his thumbs along my jawline. “But I’m glad I get the chance to say a proper goodbye now.”
I was so hungry for his kiss that the thought of morning breath didn’t cross my mind. It didn’t seem to bother him, either. Not from the way he consumed me, his eager mouth enveloping mine, making my whole body tremble.
He broke off abruptly, with a dazed sort of look in his eye. “I’ll text you later.”
“Okay.”
I moved to stand, but he said, “You don’t have to get up. Stay. Relax. I can see myself out.”
And then he was gone.
After the intensity of that kiss, there was no way I could relax. Maybe I’d have a go with my magic bullet, instead. Reclining in bed, I closed my eyes, licking the remnants of his flavor off my lips. But my plan for self-fulfillment was rudely interrupted when my phone beeped with a text from Whitney.
WHITNEY:
Have you checked Twitter?
MEL:
No, why?
WHITNEY:
You’re trending again.
Goddammit.
MEL:
I don’t care.
WHITNEY:
No, it’s not the #DickInTheDark thing. It’s something else. Something waaay better.
MEL:
WTF does that mean?
She replied with a link. At first, I didn’t understand what I was scrolling through. It seemed to be a Twitter feed about bad Fluttr dates or something. Then I noticed all the tweets had the same hashtag: #JerkAlert.
MEL:
Holy shit!
WHITNEY:
I know!
MEL:
How did you find this?
WHITNEY:
Walking into SoulCycle rn, will tell you later.
WHITNEY:
BTW are you free for dinner tomorrow? Happy hour @ Stanton Social.
MEL:
Sure.
WHITNEY:
Cool. I’ll text Dani and Lia to see if they’re in.
WHITNEY:
And get ready, baby. You’re about to blow up. Big time!
My stomach gurgled, possibly a gut reaction to the idea of blowing up big-time. Which didn’t make a whole lot of sense. Just last night, the idea of blowing up was exciting. This was what I wanted, wasn’t it? For people to spread the word about my product. A trending hashtag was like a ticket on the express train to success. The stuff start-up dreams were made of.
Technically, though, I didn’t have a start-up. I was merely a woman, running a website from her bedroom, hoping that someday it might turn a profit. I truly believed JerkAlert could be financially rewarding one day. I even believed it could be revolutionary. But at the moment, I was having second thoughts about whether I wanted to lead this particular revolution.
If JerkAlert went viral, there’s no way I could maintain my anonymity. Not in this day and age, when everyone carried GPS and a video camera on them at all times. People would be curious. They’d unmask me. Then they’d put two and two together and realize I was the same woman from #DickInTheDark. Imagine the memes they’d make then.
There was also the whole Alex factor. If he found out I was the brains behind JerkAlert from some internet meme, he’d undoubtedly wonder why I didn’t just tell him myself. He’d question my motives, become suspicious, and lose faith in me. A wedge would form between us. Our relationship would be over before it even began.
All this anxiety was making me thirsty, so I rolled out of bed and headed to the kitchen for a glass of water. Vanessa was there, standing over the sink, scrubbing out mason jars. She didn’t look up when I entered the room.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey.” Her scrubbing became more vigorous.
“Do you need any help cleaning?” I asked.
“No. I’ve got it under control.”
A quick survey of the apartment confirmed that she did, indeed, have it under control. The mess I’d spotted in the early morning hours was long gone. All that was left were some dishes, but she was flying through them at an extraordinary rate.
Vanessa herself was cleaned up, too. No more smudged eye makeup, no more tousled hair. It was like our hallway meeting in the middle of the night had never happened. And since she refused to look at me, I assumed she wished it hadn’t.