Page 104 of Easy
I inhale, counting to three then release the breath over the same count. That he’s a deep sleeper is a plus because escape is just a few steps away. Awkward greetings and morning breath would be bad enough, but I’m almost certain we hadn’t exchanged names.Because I would’ve remembered that, surely?
Besides, after my behaviour last night, I think I’d rather not face him right now. Whoever he is.
As my phone chirps with a text, I swipe it from the nightstand, sore in places I’d rather not think about. Sliding my legs from under the covers, I peel the sheet back. Not daring to drag it with me even the shortest of distance, I find my toes are not the only thing exposed to the morning air. Trying hard to remember where I’d abandoned my clothes, I scan the room as I swipe my thumb across the screen of my phone.
I find a missed call and a text from Flo, the woman whose demise I’ll schedule sometime later today.
The text reads:
Wassup, bitch?If the bubbling spots on the screen are anything to go by, another text would be following shortly.
Come on, Loo, answer da fone!! I’m well jel of the stud you pulled. I need deets!
Sorry, Louise is dead. Lots of love, last night’s serial killer,I reply, typing with both thumbs, surprised not to see matching bruises on my wrists. I rotate them, savouring in the silent bruising, wondering how long it would be before the colour shows. Then I spot my panties hanging from the post at the end of the bed. Seconds later, I’ve wiggled them up over my hips, my thumbs then continuing our conversation as I search the room for my bra and the rest of my clothes.
How could you let me go home with a stranger?
What kind of a friend are you?
How could I have NOT let you?comes Flo’s retort.The stud was wearing you like a coat.
I snort, regretting the action immediately, but as I turn my head, sleeping studly hasn’t stirred.
Flo likes to pretend, at least by text, that her first language is street. No one would guess from her texts that her accent is more Knightsbridge than Newham, or that Flora, as she’s known at home, is the daughter of someone in Parliament. Or that her mother possesses the title The Right Honourable. There’s a strange sort of symmetry in this, considering Flo is definitely moredishonourable.
Don’t get your knickers in a knot, darling,Flo’s next text read.Get them up your legs and meet me at the coffee shop on the corner. I’ve known where you were all along. Turn left out of his front door. I’ll be the one wearing a rather natty fedora I’ve snagged from the back of your bedroom door. Ciao x
God knows what else she’s “borrowed” from the visit to my room. My smile doesn’t last very long, replaced by a frown. His front door. How did I allow myself to get here? And how does she know where I am?
It might not exactly be my first, but one-night stands aren’t a regular occurrence for me. In fact, the last time I’d woken in a stranger’s bed, I’d been eighteen and miles from my college dorm. Tequila had also been to blame then. But this time is... different. Items checked off my bucket list.
A night of kinky sex ?
A night of Fifty-Shading fun ?
I shake my head and the absurd thoughts away, spotting my black bra hanging from a chair on the other side of the bed. A chair very close to my companion’s head. Stealthily, I creep around the edge, stepping over a couple of torn condom wrappers with a silent sigh of relief.At least someone was paying attention to such things.
I gingerly pull the lacy strap, unravelling it from inside a man’s oxford shirt, and fight the urge to look at him as I turn. It’s not that I think I’ll be disappointed—in my mind, he’s definitely handsome. But it’s maybe better to leave it that way; a vague impression of the man. Memories of a dark-haired stranger. And I might’ve managed it had Flo’s words not echoed that moment in my head.
I’ve never been to bed with an ugly man, but I may have inadvertently woken up with one or two.
My reluctance to look at him isn’t vanity—I’m not afraid of tequila goggles. It’s more a feeling that, in looking at him, I’ll validate my recklessness. If I don’t look, it might be easier to ignore the night I’ve spent with a stranger, doing things that, this morning, I... I can’t exactly recall.
But for all the lies I tell myself, my eyes are drawn to him as I turn.
He’s instantly familiar from last night rather than any prior acquaintance. Flashes of complete images follow. Lounged in his chair, one hand wrapped around his glass, the other wrapped around me. The flash of white teeth as he laughed. The way he whispered in the cab how he couldn’t wait to be inside me. Images of us in this bedroom, his dark hair entwined in my fingers, his mouth between my legs. His hand on my breasts, the warm sense of being held in his arms. In his hands. The sensation his body against mine.
His hair is unruly in sleep, neither black nor brown. His profile, though still chiseled, is softer than in my head, sleep blurring his hard edges. His mouth is ridiculously sensual for a man, though a strong jaw balances his features, dark stubble completing the near perfection. Heat crawls from my belly as I remember the bristling sensation at my shoulder.The echo of it between my legs.My blush only deepens as I realise my fingers are absently tracing that same path.
I fold my arms across my chest, aching to touch myself yet not ready to move or look away. The skin of his bare torso is porcelain to my gold, the muscles in his shoulders and arms, from what I can see, highly defined. One bare ass cheek peeks from the sheet across his hips. From what I can discern from the sum of the parts on display, it’s safe to say this man keeps very fit.
I shake my head, rousing myself. No matter how handsome he is, I need to leave before he wakes and the inevitable awkwardness of a second meeting sets in.
Silently slipping on my bra, I suffer a sudden flashback of dropping my blouse and skirt to the floor of another room.A striptease? No. I don’t have that sort of confidence.Picking up my phone once again, I swear my heart touches my tonsils as I reach for the door handle when he speaks. I swallow past the lump of discomfort, not daring to turn, but he isn’t awake.Thank you, Lord, for unintelligible sleep ramblings. Without turning, I slip from the room like a thief, the echoes of his sleep-roughened voice conjuring other memories...
In the club, he’d ordered a bottle of tequila, smiling as I’d directed the waitress to take away the limes and salt.
‘Serious tequila doesn’t need embellishments,’ I’d said. He’d chuckled darkly as I added, ‘And all bets are off after a couple of shots.’
