Page 45 of Savage in the Sheets
If there’s any chance she feels the same way, then we explore that together. God, I hope we get the chance.
If she’s committed to maintaining our friendship. I’ll smile, hide my pain, and pretend to go out to the bar for a hookup as I cry myself to sleep.
Then, a job offer will come, and I’ll have an excuse to leave which will have nothing to do with her.
Since putting my resume on various sites, I’ve already had half a dozen employers contact me, offering to fly me out for an interview. They’ve hinted I’ll start out at twenty-percent more than what I’m making here, with a considerable sign-on bonus.
I’d be stupid not to explore these opportunities.
With two hours left, I scatter rose petals throughout my apartment, place massage oils by the tub, light candles, and set out a box of chocolate covered-strawberries I got for the occasion.
How the hell am I going to keep myself from exploding? I wonder as I look at the clock flashing 1:48.
A knock sounds on the door.
She’s early!
I run to a mirror, smooth back my hair, and put on my best panty-dropping smile.
You got this.
Trying to remain calm, I open the door, my heart sinking into my stomach when I see who’s on the other side.
“What are you doing here?”
Jenna
There’s no way I’m going to last until three, and it’s unreasonable to expect me to. Not with what I have to look forward to.
I duck out of line at ImPressed, where I went to pass the hour before I’m supposed to be as Weston’s, and walk the three blocks to his apartment.
To say that I’m in absolute agony is an understatement. My hands are shaking. When I open my mouth to utter hello to a familiar face, all I do is squeak. My heart is beating triple-speed, and I think I’m a hyperventilation away from fainting.
And I’ve never once used the word hyperventilation as a form of measurement before.
It’s 2:05, but knowing Wes, he’s just chillin at home. I’ll get there early, and we’ll get the party started.
Ironically, it’s not the‘party’that has me so anxious that I’m shaking. It’s the‘after party,’when I tell Weston how I feel about him.
I’m not going to be dramatic or make a scene. I’m merely going to tell him my feelings. I don’t expect that he’ll reciprocate, but in a secret lair deep inside my soul, I hope he does.
I exit the stairwell and continue to his apartment, hoping I don’t die of a heart attack before I have the best sex of my life, or that the sex doesn’t lead to one either.
As I turn the corner to Weston’s apartment, a familiar giggle greets me.
And the sight that accompanies it makes my blood run cold.
Angela is talking frantically, a mile-a-minute, to Weston who is smiling back at her in his doorway.
“I can’t wait!” she enthuses, launching herself into his arms and planting a kiss on his cheek.
My stomach twists, and I have to press a hand to my mouth so I don’t vomit all over the floor.
A million questions race through my head. How long has this been going on? Did she do this because I confessed my love for him? Was he going to tell me?
I duck back into the other hallway before they spot me, determined to breakaway without having to confront them.
Humiliation, shame, sadness, all overwhelm me. Making me weak.
