“You don’t have to cover yourself up. Believe me, there’s nothing under there that should be covered.”
His smooth voice fires up the heat between my legs.
“I’ll give you a minute,” he says, calmly, before turning and taking his jean-clad backside into my living room.
There it is.
Now I remember exactly how we got here.
I pull myself wearily out of bed, waiting for the familiar sound of someone rummaging in the fridge before heaving a sigh of relief. I quickly head into the bathroom, dragging the sheet behind me, and stare at my reflection in the mirror above the sink.
“Oh, fuck!” I yell at the sight of my face, staring back at me.
“Everything okay?” he calls from the other room.
“Everything’s great!” My voice is no more than a squeak – but come on! He saw me, looking likethis? Yesterday’s make-up is still plastered around my eyes. My hair is sticking up at all angles, deep bags frame my tired eyes, and… What the hell is that? I glance at my neck, where a purple mark is making an appearance.
“What the hell…?” I pull the sheet away from my body and do a quick check-over.
“You wanted a wild night.” His voice from the doorway makes me jump.
“What are you talking about?”
“Those marks,” he says, nodding towards my body, before looking down at his chest and smiling. I glance at him; and I notice that, alongside his abs (which I’m scared I may have licked), and the deep V that disappears into the waistband of his jeans (which I think I also licked), he is peppered in bruises, too.
“Please, don’t tell me you don’t remember anything.”
It would probably have been better if I didn’t remember anything, but no; the images of last night are inked indelibly onto my memory.
“I’m just a little confused. I’m not used to drinking so much – but I do remember. I think.”
“Maybe coffee will help.”
“Hopefully.”
“I’ll wait for you in the kitchen.”
He walks away, as I turn back towards the mirror and try to clean myself up a little. I wash my face, brush my teeth and attempt to drag a brush through my hair. I go back into the bedroom and yank open the drawers, grabbing a sweatshirt and throwing it on quickly. I pad over to the wardrobe, grab my jogging bottoms and pull them on, before taking a deep breath and going out to join him in the kitchen. A cup of coffee is waiting for me, accompanied by a beaming smile that I don’t think I could ever forget.
I sit on the stool by the kitchen counter as he stands by the fridge.
“Milk?” he asks, opening the door.
I nod, and he grabs the carton, pouring some into my mug until I ask him to stop.
“I gave her some, too.” He nods towards the little traitor who’s weaving her way around his legs.
“Caramel,” I say, taking a sip. “Her name is Caramel.”
I drink my coffee, trying to brush off this awkward morning-after silence – something else I’m not used to – but he doesn’t seem embarrassed at all. He seems perfectly comfortable in his role as the one-night-stand, who can’t wait to disappear the next day.
“Listen.” His smile grows less charming, his expression morphing into something serious. I don’t like it.
“You don’t need to say anything.” I meet him halfway – not to help him, just to be clear. But I owe it to my pride. “It was just one night.”
He nods slowly, scrutinising me.
“I wasn’t looking for anything. I just wanted some fun. And that’s exactly what we had.”
