* * * *
Thin sunlight bleeds through the drapes, throwing just enough light for me to see where the hell I am. Shit. I spent the night. I didn’t mean to do that. After our second time where I rode him like a feral horse, he crashed hard. I meant to let him sleep a few, then call a cab, but I guess he wore me out.
My phone shows it’s only five a.m. so maybe I can still avoid the awkward morning after where we fill each other with lies about how we’ll call. As I dress, I take a second to appreciate the human work of art spread out before me. He looks young and vulnerable in sleep, his long eyelashes fanned over his cheeks. God, the beauty of the eyes behind those eyelids is something to remember.
With that stubbly jawline and muscled body, he’s far too masculine to be described with the word beautiful. His arms are tucked behind his head, his biceps bulging. I have a wonderful memory of squeezing them as I rode him the night before, and the look on his face when he came was the thing of fantasies. My vibrator is going to think its name is Mason.
This is my chance to get a better look at the colorful tattoos that sleeve his right arm and dip to cover half his chest. Deep green vines and leaves wind around his bicep and grow across his chest. Scattered between them are drawings of different flowers. I recognize a few. Pastel yellow magnolias, purple hyacinths, bright red gladiolus. They’re beautiful, detailed, and truly a work of art, but it’s a little odd for a man to get tats of flowers, isn’t it? Flaming skulls and big tittied women seem more their style.
In the dip between his clavicle and neck, there’s an outline or maybe a scar. It’s so faint I can’t tell. I jump when he snorts and rolls onto his side. I need to quit ogling him and get out of here before he wakes up.
I find my shirt on the living room floor beside his. The half-eaten smore lies near the fireplace, and I consider throwing it away, but I want him to see it, to remember me. Which reminds me, I need my souvenir.
It’s weird and creepy, I know, but I’ve done it as long as I can remember. When I was moved from one foster home to another, I always took something to remember them, and left something so they’d remember me. After a quick glance around the room, I pick up his shirt and stuff it in my purse. Now I can go.
I step outside before calling Yellow Cab, and spend fifteen minutes waiting at the edge of the road until it shows up. The driver gives me a knowing smile. Catching a cab at five-thirty a.m. on a Sunday with mussed hair and wrinkled clothes is a blatant walk of shame announcement. I get the same look from the people in the lobby of my apartment building, and though I try really hard, I can’t find a shit to give. After a quick shower, I fall into bed and back to sleep.
The buzzing of my phone wakes me a few hours later, and the display shows I’ve missed two calls and a few texts. Mason? Why is he calling already? I didn’t leave anything behind.
The first text is from Ian.
-Get your ass up. Have lunch with me today.-
The last three are Mason.
-Is there a reason I woke to an empty bed?-
The next is time stamped an hour later.
-What the hell, Evie?-
And another hour later.
-Call me, Everly.-
What does he want? Guys never like to wake up to a one night stand, and I spared him the experience. He should be grateful. I don’t want to talk to him, so I settle for texting him.
-Sorry, had to be somewhere. Had fun. Hope you did too. Thanks for a wonderful night.-
My phone beeps almost instantly.
-You had to be somewhere before six a.m. on Sunday? I call bullshit.-
He must’ve woke just after I left.
-Didn’t want to overstay my welcome. Last night was great. Talk to you later.-
-Quit trying to ditch me and ANSWER YOUR PHONE.-
I’ve barely read his text when my phone buzzes again. Persistent asshole. I relent and press the accept call button. “It’s rude to use all caps, you know.”
“Why didn’t you feel welcome?” he demands.
“What? I didn’t mean…look, we both know how this goes. I didn’t want you to wake, realize I spent the night and worry I’d try to stay and make breakfast or something.”
“I don’t know who you’ve been dating, Evie, but he’s obviously an asshole. I wouldn’t have asked you here if I didn’t want you to stay, and not just until we’re done in bed. Next time, I want breakfast.”
Next time? “You still want me to go to the carnival with you?”
