Page 1 of One Night Only
1
There’s someone in my bed.
I stare at the head of dark hair beside me, trying to recall his face. Trying to recall anything really. I have vague memories of sitting at a bar, an empty shot glass in front of me and the weight of warm hands on my hips. But everything else is a blur.
That, of course, can be explained by the mounting ache behind my eyes and the fact that my mouth feels like I coughed up a furball.
I lie back against the pillows, annoyed with myself. On a work night as well. I’m usually more disciplined than this.
There’s a sharp buzz beside me and I reach for my phone on the nightstand. Seven a.m. A calendar notification reminds me what I’m supposed to be doing right now and I text Claire, my roommate, my reason to cancel.
I can hear her outside my door, moving around the kitchen before she suddenly goes quiet. Her response comes a moment later.
Why do you always sleep with someone when you’re supposed to go for a run with me?
I can’t help nighttime Sarah,I message back. She hates daytime Sarah.
Claire doesn’t answer, so I ease myself into a sitting position and pull the charger from my phone, letting the cable drop noisily to the floor.
The man beside me doesn’t so much as flinch.
I hate the heavy sleepers.
“Hey there.” I poke his bare shoulder as I swing my feet to the floorboards. His skin is warm under my touch, the only indication he’s even alive. I clear my throat.
Nothing.
Fine.
Butt-naked, I dart the few steps to my bedroom door and grab my robe, wrapping it around me. I need a shower. My hair sticks to the back of my neck, sweaty from a hot summer’s night and whatever else I did.Wedid. I don’t need to look in a mirror to know my makeup is probably smeared all over my face.
I pry the door open and then, with a warning glance at Claire who’s waiting curiously in the hall, slam it shut again.
The man wakes with a start, almost falling to the floor as he jerks upright.
“I’m so sorry,” I croon, approaching the bed. I don’t touch it. That would imply I’m getting back in. “Did I wake you?”
“No,” he lies, his voice gruff with sleep. He twists to look at me and the sheet falls, revealing his chest. I keep my eyes on his face. His bleary, handsome face. Blue eyes peer out beneath thick eyebrows, now drawn together in confusion. My friend Soraya would say he has a superhero jaw. I think I may have licked it.
“I’m sorry it’s so early,” I say. “But I’ve got to get to work.” I smile my usual smile, polite and encouraging, a little apologetic.
He blinks at me. It’s like I’m watching his mind wake up in real time. “You’re kicking me out?” His Irish accent grows stronger as he speaks, the same one that had me melting last night.
“I’m going to work. Don’t you have to go to work?”
“Not really, no.”
I force back a sigh. Usually, they’re halfway around the block by now. “Okay. I do. So…up.” I grab his T-shirt from the floor, which feels less personal than the boxer shorts next to it and toss it to him. It lands somewhere where I think his knees are.
He makes no move to put it on.
“Do you want to get some breakfast?” he asks.
Breakfast? My headache intensifies.
“I’m sorry if you misunderstood. But I need you to leave so I can leave.”
“Why can’t I stay?”
