Clearly one night together had sent me on a careening spiral of ridiculous romanticism and I loved him for it. I loved how alive I’d felt in his arms. He touched me, looked at me, spoke to me, and the world became a brighter, better place.
Suddenly, I couldn’t wait for him to wake up. I wanted to see myself reflected in his eyes, see a mirror of the love I could barely contain.
I rested my hand on his shoulder and smoothed it down the length of his impressive bicep. He was so strong. Touching him made me shiver, made my happy heart do a little dance.
Bryan flinched, inhaling a deep breath, then blinked his eyes open.
I grinned. “Good morning.”
My smile widened at the sound of my words, this being the first time I’d greeted a lover. I sounded husky. I sounded older, more like a woman. At nineteen, I knew I’d already been a woman before the events of the prior evening. But I liked the way sex sounded in my voice.
Out of all the events of the prior evening, sex had been the most surprising. All of my girlfriends who’d lost their virginity said it hurt like hell the first time. But it hadn’t hurt for me. It had been wonderful.
Maybe Bryan had a magic penis. And how lucky was I? Finding a bloke with an enchanted penis for my first time. Maybe he had a purse around here someplace with endless money, or a goose that shite golden eggs. I wouldn’t be surprised if he did.
His handsome eyebrows did a little dance on his forehead as he struggled to lift his eyelids, finally managing to crack just one eye open then immediately closing it. “Christ! It’s bright in here. Do me a favor, love, and close the drapes. I’ve got a splitting headache.”
I felt my smile falter, but said, “Uh, okay.”
I moved to stand, but then remembered my nakedness, so I hesitated. I’d been shy, which Bryan had told me was normal. He’d made me feel so beautiful that by the end of the night I didn’t care.
But now I was feeling self-conscious all over again.
“Hello? Are you still there?” he asked, covering his head with a pillow. “Are you closing the drapes or what?”
“Sorry.” The word slipped out automatically due to habit, even though I wasn’t sorry. Not really. I just needed a minute to get my bearings. Rather than dither any longer, I decided to take the bed sheet with me, wrap it around myself.
I tugged the sheet, eliciting a short huff from Bryan, but he let it go. Disoriented and suddenly clumsy, it took me a moment to find the cord to pull the drapes closed.
“Done?”
“Um, yes.” I stared at the bed, uncertain what to do.
He sounded different this morning.
Or maybe I was being silly and insecure.
Either way, I wanted to snuggle next to him—of course—but decided I needed some sign from him first.
He lifted the pillow and peeked at me. Or maybe he peeked at the room to make sure I’d closed the drapes. Either way, he seemed relieved by what he saw and removed the pillow from his face. He folded it and placed it behind his head, the definition of his muscles caught by the hazy, shadowy light filtering in beneath the curtains.
“Hello,” he said, giving me a small smile, his eyes moving down my body.
“Hi.” I waved then fiddled with the sheet where I clutched it to my chest, feeling puerile but unable to pinpoint precisely why.
“You’ve red hair.” His smile grew but his eyes narrowed.
I tucked my hair behind my ear reflexively, my heart fluttering happily because he’d said the same thing last night. He’d told me it was the color of lust and passion.
And then the happy flutters petered out, because telling me my hair was the color of lust and passion sounded really cheesy in the light of day. Really cheesy and trite.
“Yes, it’s the same color as lust and passion,” I deadpanned, deciding that recycling his words as a joke would make us both feel better about how silly they sounded now.
He made a face, his nose wrinkling like I was strange or I smelled bad. His reaction made the moment untenably awkward, heightening my insecurity tenfold. I wondered for a moment if he’d forgotten saying the words, then dismissed the thought. More likely I’d offended him by making the statement a joke.
I had the urge to apologize again.
“Anyway. . .” His stare lingered on me for a few seconds, and then he pressed the base of his palms into his eye sockets and sighed. “Fecking hell, my head is splitting.”
I frowned, worried. “Are you all right? Should I call a doctor?”
He chuckled, squinting at me briefly then replacing his palms. “Nah. I’ll be right at rain soon as I have a drink, just to take the edge off. Don’t worry about me.”
My frown deepened. I was still standing dumbly at the side of the bed, endeavoring to make sense of his words.
He doesn’t mean alcohol, does he? He wasn’t drunk last night.
“I can grab some water and I have a Motrin in my purse,” I offered, taking a step toward the bathroom.