I actually didn’t mind the idea of being alone. Growing up, I was never alone. Not really. Privacy was something to be savored, and about the only place I had it was in my bedroom—thank God I didn’t have to share a room with my brothers—or the bathroom. And even then, nothing was guaranteed. Only once I started my period was I able to prevent my brothers from just barging into the bathroom we all shared with the door that never locked properly. All I had to do was scream, “My vagina is bleeding!” and they hightailed it out of there. They probably thought my period never stopped, I used it as an excuse so much.
But back to my place. I have my things, I have Netflix and Prime and Hulu and a couple of magazine subscriptions (so old-fashioned, I know) and I also like to read. My Kindle app is full of books I hoard yet never make time to read, so I have constant entertainment at my fingertips. I date on occasion, used to hook up more often, but they’re all…not it.
And after the Carter Abbott hookup, I sort of gave up on guys in general because that night was just so idealized. Like, absolute perfection.
Was it the thrill? The unexpectedness of it all? I never looked at Carter that way before. Yes, I thought he was attractive, but he automatically went into the no-fly zone because he’s Caroline’s brother. The forbidden nature of our hookup, the fact that it was Carter, the fact that it happened with no real build up. It was a true one-night stand in every sense of the word, plus the alcohol helped me release my inhibitions completely—this all equaled the ultimate sexual experience for me.
Multiple orgasms will put a man on a pedestal, this is what I’ve discovered.
“Why are you avoiding him?” Eleanor asks, pulling me from my thoughts. “From what you implied, it sounds like it was a pretty hot night. You don’t want a repeat performance?”
I didn’t go into too much detail, and I think that’s why they believe it was a pretty hot night, as Eleanor said. She’s not wrong.
It was an amazing night.
“It’s really uncomfortable between us. Remember what I told you? That he left in the morning and I never heard from him again until recently?” I take a swig of my water, and it’s so deliciously cold and tastes so good, I drain half my glass in a couple of swallows. “I was kind of pissed. I still sort of am. Plus, the whole sex thing gets in the way.”
“If you weren’t interested in each other, then that sex thing wouldn’t be between you,” Sarah points out logically.
“I don’t agree with you.” When they remain quiet, I further explain myself. “It’s the fact that we’ve done it before that puts it between us. It’s awkward. We’re awkward around each other. Also don’t forget the jerk ghosted me.”
Eleanor shakes her head. “I hate that part. Has he apologized?”
“No.” Of course he hasn’t. That whole, let’s forget it ever happened suggestion didn’t help matters either.
“Do you think he wants more?” Sarah asks.
“No.” I don’t know. He’s a little flirty, but hasn’t he always been flirty? I can’t remember.
“Do you want more?” Eleanor asks hopefully.
“No.” My answer is quick. Too quick?
Maybe.
Thankfully, they ignore my too quick response, and that’s probably because they don’t believe me, but whatever. I’m not about to bring it up again.
“It’s almost eleven,” Sarah says, checking her Apple Watch. Her boyfriend Jared gave it to her for her birthday, and she loves it. Almost as much as she loves Jared. “Shouldn’t you be in bed by now?”
“Oh God, yes.” I groan and shake my head, but that hurts, so I stop. “I don’t want to go home.”
I don’t want to face Carter. Though he’s probably locked up in his room, afraid to see me like some sort of coward.
Or maybe he hates me and wants nothing to do with me. He’s only taking his sister’s old room because it’s convenient.
Ah, the doubt is going to kill me, I swear.
“We can walk you there!” Eleanor’s entire face lights up like a Christmas tree. “Make sure you get inside safely.”
“You don’t care about her safety, you want to see if Carter’s awake and how they interact with each other,” Sarah points out.
Eleanor’s face falls a little. “Fine, you caught me.”
“You can walk me there,” I tell them both, hiccupping once. Then again. “But you’re not coming inside.”
“Maybe Carter will.” When Eleanor and I stare at Sarah blankly, she rolls her eyes. “Be coming inside. You.”
You wish.
No, I tell the voice. I really don’t.
Eleanor makes a face. “So crude.”
“You love it.” Sarah takes a delicate sip of her water, and then grabs her purse and stands. “Let’s go, cowgirls.”
Cowgirls? I don’t bother questioning her. As I mentioned earlier, she’s buzzed. We’re all buzzed, and we sort of stumble out of Milligan’s, waving goodbye to the bartender who we all know and love. His name is Cory and he’s the son of the owner, and he’s around our age. He’s got red hair and a thick, red beard and big, beefy arms. Eleanor confessed a while ago that she had a minor crush on him, though she got over it quick when she saw Cory kiss his equally beefy and bearded boyfriend one night at another bar we were all at.
“All the good ones are taken or gay,” she lamented that evening, and we consoled her as best we could.
Poor Eleanor.
And poor me, because sharing an apartment with the man you had amazing sex with is something straight out of a movie. Or a reality TV show. Maybe I’m being tricked? Or worse, are we actually being filmed? Instead of 90 Day Fiancé, maybe we’re in the new show, 120 Day Roommate You Had Sex With, and they’ll bait us every single day, seeing how long it takes until we fall into bed again.
I guess it doesn’t have to be a bed. It could be the couch. Or the loveseat. Or the kitchen counter, the shower, against the wall in the hallway...
We leave the bar, the three of us walking with linked arms, me in the middle as we head to my place. It’s breezy outside, the wind carrying a salty hint of ocean since it’s so close by, and I breathe deep, telling myself Carter will be in his room when I get home and I won’t have to see him.
Another day avoided. Only approximately three months and twenty-nine days to go.
We make idle chitchat, though I remain fairly quiet. We round the corner of Sweet Dreams and are in the narrow alley between the two buildings, and I stare up at the giant staircase that leads to the door of my apartment.
“Can you make it up the stairs or do you need me to walk you up there?” Eleanor asks innocently.
“Stop trying to get inside her apartment,” Sarah scolds, and that makes me laugh.
“She’s just trying to be helpful,” I say.
“Well, yes. And I’m also trying to get into your apartment,” Eleanor admits. Liquor is a truth serum for her, which is pretty amusing.
“I’ll be fine.” I unhook my arms from theirs and walk up a couple of steps, then turn to see they’re standing in the same spot I left them. “You can go now.”
“We’ll wait until you get inside,” Eleanor says. “For—safety reasons.”