The Alpha’s Desire 1(25)

 

 

 

I had to think positive, though. I had to believe that the magic we’d shared last night, the unbelievable connection of two strangers, would bring him back to me. Whatever had given him a sudden change of mind could pale in the daylight. He could think things through and knock on my door any minute. I’d go with that for now.

 

 

 

I’d slept like the dead, a sound, dreamless sleep. The first good night I’d had all week. I just didn’t appreciate the way I’d gotten it. Even after what must have been a good eight hours of rest, my body hung limp, unwilling to get up and go. My slumped shoulders ached. The pull of their position caused a stress up through my neck. The pang of soreness there sent vibrations to encourage the mild throb in my head to form a whopper of a headache.

 

 

 

In the small decorative mirror set I had on the far wall over my kitchen table, I caught my reflection. The mirrors had been something I’d taken from my dad’s, as they had been bought by my mom. And as with many tough moments in my life, I wished she were here now to comfort and to counsel me. A mother’s hug while embarking upon a good cry on her shoulder... well, I believed that could cure most ills. Maybe I just held that belief, though, because I’d only gotten to do that a few times in this life. Of course they had been over a torn stuffed dog and something mean a girl had said to me at school, but still, I remember the miraculous change that happened in me within her embrace.

 

 

 

Even a few feet away from the mirrors, my vacant reflection scared me. I didn’t even recognize myself. My full cheeks had been washed pale, though they looked splotchy. My big eyes shone, bloodshot and swollen with smudges of last night’s make-up around them, appearing like bruises. I looked like something out of a horror movie, a back to the dead thing, in the blurriness caused by distance, taking on a ghostly visage. My hair after our romp in bed had taken on a zombie-like hairstyle going beyond mere bedhead.

 

 

 

Trying to run my fingers through the thick tangle proved brutal, so I gave up quickly. These knots needed to be conditioned out if I had a hope of keeping most of my hair. Although I hadn’t had much to drink last night, my mouth felt pasty, and I didn’t recall what I’d eaten that had given me such a bitter taste in my mouth. Turning to the coffee pot as if it were my only friend, my only hope at surviving this day, I dumped yesterday’s grinds and started over. Once I popped open the lid of the coffee, the rich smell of the grounds only added to the comfort of the routine. I knew from endless experience that, for days like this, a focus on the little things would be my only salvation.

 

 

 

That is, save Lex returning to my door sometime to apologize, to explain away his unexplainable behavior. His image, all muscled man, standing there last night minutes before he’d left, hunched shoulders much like mine now, became a vivid picture in my head. His cock hadn’t even been soft again before he’d taken off. The only words he had uttered had been in a toneless voice, one void of any hint of emotions he might have been feeling. I needed to get in the shower, and fast, just in case he did return. Wouldn’t want to scare him off again with one look at this creepshow visage I had going for me now.

 

 

 

Finding myself statue-still, a scoop of coffee in my hand hanging over the pot, I put myself back into the job at hand. I adjusted the filter as if I were going to photograph the thing before I let the coffee grinds fall into the filter in a slow waterfall. Measuring out the water, I dumped a little out and then refilled a few drops until I had the line of water perfectly at the four cup mark. I seriously put myself into the task whole-heartedly even though I felt motivated to do nothing but sit and stare at the door all day, willing him to come back. I wouldn’t let myself fall that far, though.

 

 

 

With the coffee prep meticulously done, I’d only delayed the inevitable thoughts from coming. I needed a good dose of caffeine, the warmth of it running through my body, before I tackled the memory of last night with any details. Not sure what good I thought would come of all that, except maybe an explanation as to the why of it all hidden somewhere. I knew it was unlikely, of course. Regardless of knowing or not knowing, I still had no way to contact the man if he chose not to get back in touch with me.

 

 

 

Hugging my now full mug to my chest, I set myself up out on the balcony again. All the ‘why’ questions bombarded me. A tidal wave of thoughts threatened to drown me. In reality, all they accomplished was to make that dull pain in my head move on to a full-on headache. The fuzziness the pain brought didn’t help my plight, although it did impede the inevitable analysis. With each faint beat of my heart, I took another sip from my mug. I prayed to the cup of joe that it give me some magical insight into the events of last night. I held the mug in a reverent double-handed grip. I’d grabbed a different mug this time, one that looked like a prescription bottle. Yet, healing right now, in the first light of my day, seemed a far out there wish.