Oh. My. God.
I grabbed stray pieces of my clothing off the floor as I moved quietly from the bedroom. But by the time I reached the kitchen near the front door, my bra was nowhere to be found.
No worries—I had more at home.
I covered my eyes again as I stifled a panic attack. Leaving my bra at a complete stranger’s house when I snuck out was one thing. I would likely never run into them again. They could hang my underthings on their hookup shrine for all I cared. Or hand it off to a new girlfriend. Or burn it in effigy or whatever.
But leaving lingerie at a man’s house I was going to have to see again, namely later today, was… awful.
Good grief, this whole thing was just dumb. Why? Why had I let things get this out of control?
It was that stupid crush, I realized. He’d been so charming lately. And helpful. And for a split second, I thought I needed someone to take care of me.
Or at least I wanted someone to.
It was just that… I was so tired of being the only one in charge of my life. Especially when I got it wrong so often.
Damn, there were so many important decisions to make and so many things to do and now I was in charge of a whole kitchen and Vann had been so wonderful when I’d needed him and… now I couldn’t even remember last night! Why couldn’t I remember? What had happened? What had… breathe, Dillon. Freaking breathe. A panic attack wasn’t going to do anyone any favors right now.
I found my purse on the counter with my cellphone miraculously inside. There was even enough battery left to order an Uber.
Vann made a sleepy sound from the other room, causing me to jump out of my skin and glance toward his room. He was still in the very center of the bed, sleeping diagonally across it. One of his arms was splayed wide where I used to be and the other covered the top of his face. The sheet draped over his important bits, leaving the rest of his gloriously sculpted body on display. Dang, this guy took care of himself.
Those thoughts pulled my attention around the rest of the apartment. The design scheme was clearly male. The biggest TV I had ever seen took up one wall, between two ceiling-high windows, flanked by a stationary bike on one side and a treadmill on the other. Along that same wall was a row of dumbbells. The L-shaped sectional in the middle of the room was a monstrosity of overstuffed worn leather. There was a novel on the coffee table with a bookmark sticking out of it.
God, that shouldn’t have made me want to crawl back in bed with him, but it did.
Three different bikes hung on the wall closest to the door. They were mounted in an artistic way, but by the look of the beaten tires and beat-up frames, I could tell they were used.
And used often.
“Cycle life,” I whispered to myself. “It really is a lifestyle.”
The kitchen was more of the same health-nut practicality. An expensive blender nestled next to an air fryer and a giant Tupperware container full of homemade granola mix. A huge container of protein powder sat next to the sink.
Aside from his affinity for being healthy, I liked the way he’d set his place up. It felt more comfortable than mine—more homey.
He clearly used this place.
Er, obviously.
But I meant his home was lived in. He worked out here. He made meals here. He made messes.
My apartment was the stop along the way. I used my bed. And my shower. And sometimes I cooked a meal. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d bothered with the TV though.
With my phone in one hand and my shoes in the other, I took a moment by the door to admire the apartment one more time and the man that lay cluelessly in bed.
He had been equally as drunk as me, right?
There would be an awkward moment tomorrow when we had to face each other and remember what had happened. I needed to make an appointment with my therapist stat. But then I’d be able to move on.We’dbe able to move on.
Maybe he’d even bring me my bra.
Maybe we’d be able to laugh about it and swear off tequila shots with Wyatt. Never again.
Maybe we’d be able to part as friends.
I slipped out the front door, ignoring the pang of hope in my gut as I made my way down the stairwell to the ground floor. It mixed with nausea as despair followed quickly on its heels. Did I even want to be friends with Vann?
