“It was a work event.” I stumble into the bathroom. “I drank too much,” I whisper to my death-warmed-over reflection in the mirror.
There’s a slip of paper jammed in the corner of the mirror.
Did you wear that sexy little dress just for me?
The dress is thrown haphazardly over the tub.
For some reason, that note gives me pause…
It wasn’t there a few hours ago.
I know because I checked for notes yesterday or, rather, early this morning when I came home. Drunk and a little horny from Fitz and all his expensive wine and that weird possessive way he had his hand on the back of my neck—I craved the familiar.
Wanted a little sign from the only real man in my life.
Now this note is here.
This means there was a strange man in my house while I was here.
It’s one thing if he comes in when I’m not there. What I don’t know can’t hurt me. But to just walk in while I’m sleeping? I shiver. Was he watching me when I was passed out on the couch?
The bathroom window is too small. That means he came in another way. The closest entry is the one in my bedroom—the double floor-to-ceiling windows that open out onto a balcony that overlooks my overgrown backyard.
I look down.
The plastic bra cups are still shellacked to my chest. I barely had the wherewithal to grab so much as a blanket.
Did he see me? Is this why he wrote the note?
He’s not Casper the friendly ghost, that’s for sure. The notes were never that sexual in nature. But maybe it was because I never wore anything that could be misconstrued.
Apprehensive, I sneak back into the bedroom. Fidget snuffles on the bed.
I check the handle on the French doors out to the balcony. Locked. “I’m being paranoid and crazy,” I whisper to myself, and I shut the curtains again, blocking out the dim, cloudy morning light.
It was all the wine and cocktails. I didn’t eat enough. I splash cold water on my face and start the slow, painful process of making myself presentable. That begins with peeling off these little sticky torture devices…
“Boo!”
My hand, holding the glue-on bra, jerks. I shriek as my tit is practically ripped off my chest.
It sends Fidget barking in the next room.
“Carolina.” My heart races. “Oh my god.”
“Girl…”
“I think I lost a nipple.”
“Oof.” Carolina inspects my boob.
“Is it bleeding? How does it look?”
“Hairless.”
“Why is everyone up so early?”
“I came over here, remember? Last night.”
