“Do you not want me to look at you?” He’s still staring.
I’m not sure how to answer. I like the feeling of his eyes on me, but it also makes me wonder if he’s internally criticizing my body, like I do myself when I look in the mirror.
I climb up onto the bed, keeping a safe distance from him. I begin to feel very uncomfortable, being here with a man I don’t know, which is ridiculous, considering what we just did.
I finally shake my head, and a smile ghosts across his lips.
His eyes go back to the screen, now displaying a man shooting a huge gun at someone else while orange explosions fill the background.
I’m suddenly very tired. A glass of water has miraculously appeared on the nightstand near me, and I chug half of it before burying myself in the feather-soft mattress. This must be the best part about being rich. I’ve been sleeping on my grandmother’s old, tired mattress for years, unable to afford anything nicer. If I had a bed like this at home, I feel confident I would never have trouble sleeping.
I close my eyes, feeling the bed shift as I drift to sleep almost instantly.
CHAPTER 4
KATE
I absolutely cannot move.Maybe I’m dead.
I seem to remember meeting a strange man. Maybe he slit my throat and drained my body of blood. That could explain the incredible heaviness in my limbs and my reluctance to get up and face the afterlife.
My eyes finally slit open, and wherever I am is dark. The hazy memories from the night before come back in fractions, and I feel a singe of heat on my skin as I recall intense green eyes on my bare skin.
“What the hell did I do?”
I slowly sit up, my head pounding. I don’t even know what day it is. A bolt of lightning shoots through my brain.
Fired. Cheated on. Bar. Alcohol. Sexy stranger. Fancy car. Fancy apartment. Alcohol again. Nakedness...
The crash of recollection makes my head pound harder, but my bladder needs to be relieved before I can start damage control or awkward morning-after greetings.
Wow, I must have been really out of it last night. I don’t remember thinking that this guy must be rolling in the green, but this guy is definitelyrollingin the green. The art on the walls looks like it was stolen from the Louvre. Every surface in thebathroom is either white or black andshiny.I take care of my business, wishing I could try out the enormous steel-grey shower that could spray water out of every surface.
“Okay, why the hell am I here?”
I stare at my face in the mirror, horrified at the sight. It appears to have been splashed with water. My eyelashes kept dripping black mascara down at least half an inch, so I resemble a Tim Burton character.
I have to get out of herenow.This isn’t my scene. I need to find a guy with a hard mattress on the floor in the corner with a small, dirty bathroom and a dingy shower curtain. Fancy places make me nervous that I’ll spill something and eternally damage some kind of priceless computer-chipped device disguised as a paperweight.
I sneak back into the bedroom, surveying the heavenly bed in search of a man’s shape. It looks unoccupied, and as I approach, I can see that it is.
My dress is hanging up on a hook on the back of the door along with my royal-blue bra and thong. I quickly dress myself, layering the grey T-shirt over it to hopefully disguise my painfully obvious walk-of-shame outfit.
As I tiptoe out into the expansive penthouse, I see windows stretching from the floor to the high ceiling and more artwork I’m nervous to even get close to, for fear of tripping and accidentally bumping into it. I’m extremely accident-prone, and this type of place is my literal nightmare. It’s beautiful, but I would never recover if I hurt something.
The owner is nowhere in sight. A glass of orange juice is sitting on the counter with two little pills next to my phone and wallet. I guess the plus side of hooking up with a rich guy is less fear of something being stolen from me while I’m asleep. I request an Uber before grabbing the cup.
“Bah, yeah, like I would just take some unknown liquid and drugs from a stranger.” I shake my head as I pour out the orange juice before refilling the glass with tap water and drinking it up.
The kitchen is solid wood, and the lower cabinets are topped with two-inch-thick quartz. There are no upper cabinets, only shelves holding very organized-looking jars of things, like oats and pretzels. It’s design-perfect, and the entire kitchen stretches three times the length of a standard one.
I want to explore, but I also don’t want to run into the man who owns this swanky place in the light of day. Best to cut and run while I can.
The ding of my phone confirms my driver is two minutes out, giving me the excuse I need to get into the elevator and return to my normal life.
Like it never happened.
I stopoff at Mel’s place to shower and change into jeans and a fresh shirt. Mel is already at the salon, cutting hair and making people beautiful. Saturdays are her busiest days.
