That absolutely, definitely, one hundred percent happened.
And now it’s over.
I drag my exhausted body back toward the kitchen.
Goodbye, Nico.
Thanks for the memories and the multiple orgasms.
I don’t even know his last name.
It’s probably better that way.
4
Bree
The weekend passes in a blur of aggressive distraction techniques.
Saturday afternoon, I deep-clean my apartment like I’m preparing for a surprise visit from the Health Inspector. Scrub the bathroom tiles until my fingers prune. Reorganize my bookshelf because apparently I’ve completely lost my mind. Wash sheets that still smell faintly of wood and spice cologne.
Don’t think about him. About the way he—
Nope.
Saturday evening, Sora shows up at my door with Thai takeout and a bottle of wine, because she’s a mind reader and also the best friend a human disaster could ever ask for.
“Spill,” she demands the second she’s through the door.
So I tell her. All of it. The sex. The fact he stayed until dawn. The fact I don’t even know his last name.
I brace myself for judgment.
Instead, Sora raises her wine glass. “Here’s to you.”
“What?”
She smiles. “Bree. You had a one-night stand with a hot, rich guy and then watched the sunrise with him on your fire escape.” She grins. “That’s like... you’re finally living.”
“I’m an idiot,” I correct.
She shrugs. “A well-sexed idiot.”
She’s not wrong.
“Anyway, you have a fresh start on Monday,” she adds. “You excited?”
Oh God.
The new job.
I’d almost forgotten all about it.
I quickly usher Sora out the door, and collapse on my bed.
The same bed where—
No!
