“I miss you.”
Those last words and Blaire’s voice swim in my head. A scream is torn from my chest as I come inside another woman, thrusting one last time. I pull out, not bothering to remove the used condom, reach for her and wrap her in my arms, comforting her. I feel her trembling but it’s not until her voice breaks through the ringing in my ears that I realize it’s me who’s shaking.
I’m not comforting her.
She’s comforting me.
“Shhh … it’s all right,” she says soothingly, caressing my hair.
I wrap my arms tighter around her. “I’m—”
“Shhh … Don’t say anything. I’m here … I’m not going anywhere.”
The sound of the rain against the windowpane wakes me up. I feel hazy as I look around my room, noticing the empty pillow next to me. I reach out and touch the indentations her body has left behind. I lose myself in the sensation of the cool sheet under my palm, trying to discover a hint of her warmth, looking to find a small trace that she was here. But all that remains is a mountain of ice-cold sheets tangled at my feet.
She’s gone. Man, it seems like I’m on a hot streak lately. First it was Blaire, and now her, too. Well, good riddance. She saved us both from a very awkward morning after.
Looking to my left, my eyes land on the alarm clock sitting on my nightstand table. 05:13. The red neon numbers on the screen bleed their light into the bleak darkness of the room. Fuck, it’s early. I get out of bed and look out the windows facing the street while I put on a pair of mesh shorts, realizing why it’s so dark in here. Dense, menacing clouds hide the blue sky under a gunmetal grey blanket as it pours outside. I walk toward the window, pull the lock handle up, and push it out. Stretching my arms and back, I enjoy the smell of rain filling my nostrils.
After a few seconds pass, I head to my living room to make myself some coffee. I’m about to cross the threshold when I stop dead in my tracks. Surprised, I find the blonde woman, her hair up in a perfect ballerina bun, or whatever the fuck those are called, standing next to the coffee machine. Two coffee mugs sit on the countertop next to her.
Uncomfortable, I rub the front of my chest, taking in the familiar curves of her body clad in black silk. It’s hard to imagine that this poised woman who looks as though ice runs through her veins is the same uninhibited creature from last night.
“You’re still here.”
She crosses her arms, leaning her hip on the edge of the counter. “You noticed.” Our eyes connect, and I see a teasing gleam in hers. “I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of making some coffee.”
“No,” I clear my throat, “not at all. Thank you.”
“I don’t feel human until I’ve had my first cup of coffee,” she says.
She’s making small talk. “Yeah, same here.”
After an awkward silence, where we stare at each other, I decide to address the big elephant in the room. “About last night—”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me.”
“It’s not that. I just wanted to apologize for the way I treated you. I was angry and took it out on you and you didn’t deserve any of that. Also,” I grimace, remembering Blaire’s call and what happened afterward. “Fuck, this is embarrassing, but—”
“Stop. Don’t say anything more. You were very clear with me from the very beginning about what you were looking for. I understood and came willingly. I’m a big girl.”
“Is this some sort of test when you say one thing but mean something completely different and I’m supposed to know it?”
She smiles. “Not at all. I promise that there’s no secret meaning behind my words.”
Is this woman for real? Where has she been all my life? “Fair enough.” As I walk toward her, I notice her checking me out. “Like what you see?”
She doesn’t look away. If anything, she slows down her perusal, taking her sweet ass time. “It’s not bad.”
Her words cut through an almost visible and very tangible tension, changing the chemistry of the air. Relaxing, I grin. Yeah, this woman has balls. But I shouldn’t be surprised, not after her behavior last night. When I’m standing in front of her, I place my hands on the countertop on either side of her body, crowding her. And the woman doesn’t budge one fucking inch.
“Careful there, beautiful.”
She licks her lips, and the sight of her tongue goes straight to my cock. “What if I don’t want to be?” She lowers her eyes to my naked chest and lifts a hand, the pads of her fingers gently caressing my tats—seemingly learning them. “Careful, that is.” Her light touch makes me want to close my eyes and enjoy the sensations running through me, but instead, I watch her tracing the ink decorating my flesh. “The Little Prince?” she asks, finally looking up.
I nod and step away from her. Her question floods me with memories of Blaire and of an idyllic afternoon spent together, and all of a sudden I’m drowning in them, in her, and in the past.