After she dug some hairpins from the bottom of her purse, Celeste combed her fingers through her hair and brought what order she could to it by pinning it back. Her overly bright eyes stared back at her in the bathroom mirror.
What a night.
A smile graced her lips and her body warmed from the memories.
She’d lowered her inhibitions and thrown herself full throttle into the best sex ever. Since Roarke only had three condoms, they’d found creative ways to enjoy each other throughout the night. She’d done things with him—and ice cubes—she hadn’t done with her own husband. After a glorious night spent in his arms, she didn’t regret taking a chance.
Now what? She didn’t know the protocol for a one-night stand. Should she wake him or just leave?
Celeste flicked off the light and walked lightly on bare feet into the dark room. With the heavy curtains still drawn, she could barely see Roarke’s sleeping form under the covers. The white sheet sat enticingly low on his hips, revealing the muscles of his taut stomach.
Indecision weighed heavy on her mind as she hovered a few feet from the bed. She wanted to lean down and kiss his cheek, but it might wake him. Or better yet, slide beneath the sheets and feel his arms lock around her again, but she couldn’t. She’d already slept late and lingered in the bed too long listening to his even breathing.
Besides, she should be honest with herself and take a hard look at what had taken place. She’d spent the night with a man she met for the first time last night. They’d had a good time, but bottom line, she should go. This was a one-night stand and nothing more, and she had to get rid of any latent expectations.
Accept it’s over, get out, go home, and go to work.
A few more moments passed.
Maybe . . . What if . . . ?
Celeste shook her head to clear it of her wistful ruminations. What was she thinking? Whatever emotional connection she thought they shared was assuredly one-sided. If she stuck around until he awoke, the situation would become awkward. She should leave while she still had her dignity intact and pretend the night meant as little to her as it undoubtedly meant to him.
A heavy knot like a stone weight filled her chest. Afraid of spending too much time evaluating her emotional state, she picked up her shoes and moved quietly to the door.
Outside in the bright morning sun, she walked briskly toward the metro station. Their time together didn’t end how she’d wanted, but it had still been memorable in a way she’d never imagined when she left home last night.
With a crooked smile, she made a silent admission.
Best. Birthday. Ever.
“Derrick’s here,” Gwen said as Celeste hustled to the beverage stand in the main dining room of Sig’s Cigar Bar & Restaurant. Derrick Hoffman, her friend and regular customer, never came in on Saturdays, but his visit was a pleasant surprise. She expected the usual large tip.
She’d been running late for her shift but managed to get there on time, change into her uniform, and clock in with a minute to spare. Management stressed the importance of the hostesses (as they were called) to be clocked in on time without fail and ready to work each shift. That included having their hair pulled back into a neat ponytail and being dressed in their uniform, which consisted of black pumps, a black miniskirt, and a white tank top. Gwen had convinced both her and Janet to apply for positions at Sig’s, and despite her initial doubts, the job turned out to be a good choice. It was still a struggle, but thanks to Sig’s, she could support her mother and her young daughter.
The weekend tip money alone was worth it, and they made even more during the playoffs because more men came in to imbibe expensive liquor with their friends while they talked trash to each other. All the hostesses knew the tighter their clothes and the more they flirted, the more money they could make. The regulars were generous, and security taught the newcomers real fast what was and wasn’t allowed.