“Yeah.” I turn my head to look at her. “It was.”
She sits up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. I watch as she gathers her clothes, and something tightens in my chest.
“You’re leaving?”
“That’s usually how these things work.” She pulls on her panties, then reaches for her dress.
“It doesn’t have to be.” I sit up, keeping my voice casual even though my pulse is racing. “You could stay. We could order food. Talk. Go for round two.”
She pauses, dress in hand, and looks at me. For a second, I think she might say yes.
“Fuck, the zipper broke.” And just like that she’s shifted back into a guest at my party. Like nothing even happened in this room tonight. I watch as she looks down at my shirt on the floor and bends to scoop it up. “I’m stealing this.”
“Keep it.” The words come out rougher than I intend.
“This was fun, Jake.” She finishes dressing, folding the dress so it’s a skirt, tucking the T-shirt to make the outfit look like it was intentionally designed to be worn that way, then looks around for her shoes.
I stand, pulling on my boxers. “For the record, I’d like to see you again.”
“Jake…this was a one-time thing. I don’t do complicated.”
“Who said it would be complicated?” She doesn’t respond and I scramble to walk her to the door, opening it for her. “If you change your mind…”
She rises on her toes and presses a quick kiss to my cheek. “I won’t. But thank you. For tonight.”
Then she’s gone, disappearing down the hallway toward the stairs.
I close the door and lean against it, running my hand over my head and down my face. Fuck.
My sheets smell like her, my skin still tingles where she touched me, and I already know that one night isn’t going to be enough.
I don’t care what she said. I’m going to see Natalie Cruz again.
one
. . .
Natalie - Three months later
The anxiety makes me nauseous.
I roll onto my side and shove my face into the pillow, breathing in laundry detergent. Light slices through the gap in my blackout curtains, striping my floor in the harsh Los Angeles light. Deep breath in. Slow breath out. My pulse still skips like it’s late to its own meeting.
Big day. Career-changing day. Let’s not puke on it.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. Then again. Then again. Whoever’s messaging is certainly committed, so I grope for it and squint at the screen.
The writers’ group chat is going off.
Jonah
Still can’t believe you actually did it!
Wren
FlixPix!! Do you know how huge this is??
Eric
