“Best night ever,” I mumbled.
“Oh, there’s more. Let me take care of this condom, be right back. Remember, I’m young enough to be your student. I can go all night long.” He winked, smirked, and disappeared into my bathroom.
Sorry not sorry, but a small smile covered my face.
I woke the next morning, my body aching, my muscles sore, as though I’d run a half-marathon.
Nope, I’d only had sex multiple times with my gorgeous neighbor.
I’d never felt more alive.
As soon as the feeling came to me, shame rained down over me.
Abby was dead, and I was reveling in some post-sex haze.
“Morning.” The hot-blooded man next to me stirred, his head propped up on his palm, his elbow digging into the pillow.
As I turned on my side, all the words got stuck in my throat. Nothing came out.
“Hey.” He brushed my cheek with the back of his hand. “Last night was incredible,” he said.
I only nodded.
“I don’t know what’s happening,” he said. “You, all of this, it’s taking me by surprise, but I like it.”
“Me too.” It came out hushed like a secret.
A lone tear fell down my cheek. We watched it plop on the pillow like a raindrop.
“What’s wrong?”
My eyes closed, and I allowed myself to feel him caress my arm—up and down and back up again.
“I’m good,” was all I was able to push out of my mouth. “Overwhelmed. Abby’s not here, and all of a sudden, this feels wrong.”
His lips found my temple. “It’s not, Claire. You’re alive, and for the rest of my life, I’ll be sorry for your loss. But that doesn’t mean you can’t live.”
He brought me even closer and nuzzled my cheek to his chest, his chin on the top of my head, his skin wet from my tears. He continued to hold me, not trying to talk me out of my fit, only holding me tight.
Later, he snuck away and returned with coffee, propping me up on pillows and burrowing his arm back underneath me.
“Thanks for a great night,” I told him, and I meant it.
“Better than great. All of it. Every second. From the moment I picked you up.”
“It was. The best,” I admitted.
That didn’t mean I was absolved from guilt.
