“No to everything you just said.”
“He’s not there?”
I tear off a piece of the cinnamon bun—sticky icing strings between my fingers.
“He was gone when I woke up.”
“Oh.” She sounds as disappointed as I am.
“He had an early class, and he didn’t want to wake me.” She doesn’t say anything. “He left me notes and breakfast.”
“Aww, best weekend fling etiquette ever.”
Weekend fling.
The words land weird in my chest. Too casual. Too small.
“Tell me everything.”
“No.”
But we do talk about everything else before I hang up. Mostly, we talk about her and the business. What happened since yesterday? The sales, the videos, and her thoughts about opening a shop.
Then I grab the suitcase and head down the short hallway, the wheels bumping softly over the carpet.
The space is too quiet without him.
I straighten a frame on the wall beside where he pinned me last night.
I take a quick shower because I have time, steam fogging the mirror, washing the smell of sex from my skin.
Then I heave my suitcase onto the bed and unzip it.
And there’s the bag of goodies that started my weekend fling with Cash. I toss the bag of vibrators on the bed.
But is it a weekend fling? Or is it just last night?
Will he come get me, and we’ll part our separate ways? If he even comes and gets me at all.
I get dressed on autopilot—jeans, tee, brush through my hair—my heart doing this stupid, hopeful little flutter I refuse to name.
Then I pack up the suitcase, and when I reach for the vibrators, I pause, my fingers curled around the plastic.
He’s still not back. And I have some time to kill.
I open the bag.
Tess wasn’t kidding. There are big ones. Small ones. Neon pink. Matte black.
One shaped like a lipstick. One curved like a question mark. One that looks suspiciously like a tiny spaceship. Silicone. Sleek. Way too expensive-looking for something that hums.
I pick one and click it on. A low, steady buzz crawls up my palm. I test the different levels, each setting climbing higher until my fingers tingle.
No. I’m not doing this.
But my body is already ahead of me. Heat curls low. Imagining Cash bombards my mind. I swear I can feel his hands on my breasts.
A release would be nice.
