Sleeping with Mr. Sexy
The soft, high-thread count sheets slide to the side, slipping off my thigh as I sit up slowly. My head pounds with sheer aggravation from the sunlight that floods the room. “Damn,” I mumble, closing my eyes. I push the palm of my hand against my temple, hoping to alleviate the pain. It doesn’t help.
Instead, I inwardly curse my affinity for strong cocktails. Long Island Iced Teas are for co-eds and stay-at-home moms making the most of a night out with the ladies. I am neither of those.
I open my eyes slowly while pulling the black strap of my bra back onto my shoulder until it’s securely in place. As my eyes adjust to the brightness of a new day, I recognize my surroundings. They are very familiar though not mine.
“Double damn!” I mutter under my breath as I turn and look behind me on the bed, knowing what I’ll find, but still praying for a different outcome.
My irritation softens as I look at Chase sleeping, admiring all 6’2” of him. Chase Andrews was one of the best-looking guys on campus, and the two years since we’ve graduated from college have been kind to him. When we go out, I hear the whispers. The ladies call him Mr. Sexy. He’s the man every woman wants to date and every guy wants to be. Successful, charming, attractive, funny, great body—a body I might have taken advantage of last night—twice.
His sandy blonde hair is not long enough to hang in his eyes like it did in college, but it’s still not office proper. I secretly love that he looks like a bad boy whether he’s in jeans or a suit. To me, he’s always been handsome, but he’s also my comfort and biggest supporter. Yes, he’s hot, and yet, all I can think of is how by sleeping with Mr. Sexy, I just fucked up the second best thing I had going in my life. The first best thing I have is my job, which as of this morning, is now waiting for me in New York City.
I stand up, unsteady on my feet, and unsure of exactly how I ended up in bed with my best friend. Making my way over to my skirt, I pull it on, waiting to zip it until I am out of his earshot. I don’t want to wake him. I roll my eyes when I find my shirt wadded up on the floor at the base of the small Ficus tree in the corner of the room. Silk should never be abused like this. Letting the light fabric glide down over my head and arms, it cascades over my torso.
With all my belongings in hand, I quickly head for the bedroom door. But I stop, feeling the need to take a second. Leaning against the doorframe, I look over my shoulder, wanting to see him one last time before I leave.
He stirs, his arm searching into the empty space beside him. Watching him as he shifts to look, I whisper, “Oh, Chase. What have we done?” Just as he starts to follow the sound of his name, I’m gone.
Grabbing a cab, I make a stop at my apartment down the street to shower and change clothes. With only fifteen minutes to spare, I’m back out the door with no time to dwell on mistakes and memories that I’ve made. I grab my suitcase and walk to the door. With keys in hand, I study the apartment for a second then leave, firm that I’ve made the right choice.
As I settle into the back of another cab, I slump down, closing my eyes. Last night started off innocently enough…
“C’mon, Lydia. We’re gonna be late!” Chase shouts from the kitchen. He believes the world will come crashing down if we’re ever late to anything.
“What’s new?” I shout back then laugh to myself. He gets so anxious if we’re not on time, and I love to rile him up. I start to twist my dark brown hair up in the back, but at the last minute decide to leave it down, knowing Chase likes it best that way.
“Guess they’ll have to wait since you’re the guest of honor,” he says, standing in the doorway to my bedroom. “Can I come in?”
I glance over at him “Aren’t we polite? You don’t have to ask, and you know that. Come in.”
“Here.” He hands me a glass of champagne. “You look incredible, you know.”
“Shut it! I’m trying not to cry tonight.”
“Why would me saying you look incredible make you cry?” He taps his glass against mine.
I stop, really taking in the moment, a lump forming in my throat. Looking down at my glass, I watch the bubbles fizz toward the top and burst. When my gaze lands back on him, and I can tell he feels the weight of tonight as much as I do.
“Come here.” He sets his glass down on the bathroom counter. His right arm swings out and pulls me to him by the waist. Comfort and security. This feels right. He always feels right.
“Am I making the right—”
He cuts me off, not letting me back out of pursuing my dream. “You have to do this. It’s why you’ve worked so hard the last two years.”