Growing up on the West Coast, specifically a coastal town, you’d think I’d worship the sun. I do, don’t get me wrong, it’s just that we’re usually at the mercy of the morning burn off. Cooler mornings lead to warm afternoons and I love it. Drowning in vitamin D was the highlight of my teenage years. I love the way my skin tingles under the rays of the blaring sun and the way sweat bubbles to the surface from the heat. Always covered from head to toe in sunscreen, and I mean that literally, sunscreen on the feet is vital. It only takes one bad sunburn when you’re thirteen to force yourself to wear socks and sneakers all summer and add this step to your morning regimen. Regardless of the mundane task of coating my skin with sunscreen, I love a bright sunny day.
This morning, I wish I had a super power to throw a pillow at the bright orb. Being woken up by the bright ball of fire isn’t exactly my favorite. I prefer, well, just about anything else. But last night I crawled into bed and didn’t close my blinds. The end result is that bastard shining in my eyes. With only one eye slightly open, I feel around aimlessly on my side table for my phone. Through my blurry eyes, I see it’s barely half passed seven.
On Sunday.
This is ridiculous and abusive. Of course, I’m my own abuser for failing to close the blinds, but that’s neither here nor there. Fine, I’m a little dramatic in the morning. Shoot me. I’m hung the fuck over.
After I got home from work last night, I contemplated a long warm bath and a session with my battery-operated boyfriend, Sven, but instead I poured myself a tequila. Then another. By the third, my creative juices were flowing, and I came up with perfect text to send Lucas. Lighthearted and friendly, it didn’t scream desperation and that was a huge bonus.
I didn’t send it.
I wimped out.
I’m a complete loser. For two months I’ve done nothing but think of him. My dreams have varied between memories of the crush I had in high school and the one I developed on our trip. It isn’t only the physical part, because, let’s be real, that’s a big part of it. It’s more. It’s the way he made me feel.
When I met Trenton, I was so determined to find the perfect guy for the perfect life, I didn’t stop to think about what that meant. Somewhere along the way I gave up the things I wanted and conformed to who I thought I was supposed to be. Happy and smiling, I rarely disagreed. I was a real-life version of a robot, and I was the furthest from happy I could be. Sure, I convinced myself it was the life I wanted, but I never stopped to think of how I felt about it. The picture of perfection was all I was interested in.
The greatest blessing I’ve received in my adult life was never getting Lasik. Forgetting my contacts that fateful day flipped my world on its axis, but it also pushed me to confront who I am. Who I had become.
I miss the old me. The silly and awkward me who loves eighties hair bands and can lip-sync a rock ballad like nobody else. I’m creative and organized, two important factors when it comes to event planning. But most importantly, I’m independent. I’ve rediscovered each of these parts of myself in the last few months.
Feeling renewed and motivated, I throw the covers off and quickly rise and turn to set my feet on the ground when a wave of nausea overcomes me. Morning after tequila is not my friend. With a deep breath, I rise and grab my hoodie before slowly making my way to the kitchen for coffee and a gallon of water.
The apartment is quiet as it is most mornings, but this is eerily quiet like Jessi never came home last night. A twinge of jealousy hits me. Or, maybe that’s the tequila. I can’t tell at this point.
As I cringe at the sound of the grinder, I welcome the aroma of soon-to-be coffee. Whoever decided to boil water and add coffee beans to it was a genius. And likely a woman. Thinking of Jessi not coming home, I’m battling myself. I’m happy for her because I love my best friend and want her to find happiness. Yet, I’m not surprised when jealousy pricks at my core. I’m in no way ready to date, and I’m not even sure I would know how to at this point, but it doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like someone to laugh with, to watch a movie, and to hold my hand during a walk on the beach.
I’ve maybe given this some thought.
With little patience this morning, I pull the coffee carafe from where the goodness drips and set my cup in its place. Strong coffee is a must and this is a surefire way for me to get it. Plus, maybe it’ll help a little before I get in the shower. When the cup is about half full, I replace it with the appropriate receiver and drop a bit of creamer in the cup as there’s a knock at the door.
It’s a little early for solicitors. It’s probably Jessi locked out. Unlocking the door, I pull it open and to my surprise, it isn’t Jessi on the other side.
“Lucas.”
“Hey. Am I too early? You said between eight and eight thirty, right?”
“Huh?”
“Are you feeling okay? You’re looking a little green around the gills.”
Eyes wide, flashes of the night before fill my foggy brain, and I take a step back from the door and look down. Shit. I’m not dressed. I’m still in only my panties and hoodie.
“Hold this,” I say, thrusting my coffee toward Lucas as I walk double time down the hall to my room. Grabbing a pair of leggings from a pile of clothes on my bed, I quickly pull them on before turning to the large mirror and gasping. My hair is wild mess, yesterday’s makeup is smudged under my eyes, and there’s . . . yep, a trail of dried drool on my chin.
Kill me.
Please.
Rushing to the bathroom, I grab one of my makeup remover wipes from the container and wipe the day-old mascara from under my eyes and the drool stain from my chin before quickly brushing my teeth. My hair is a lost cause at this point so I grab a claw clip and try to at least tame it in a random twist on top of my head.
For a minute I contemplate taking off the hoodie and letting my boobs distract Lucas from the hot mess before him.
I said contemplate not do.
Walking back in the living room, I don’t see Lucas. Great, he left.
Wait. What’s that delicious smell? Bacon?
Following the smell of bacon like a dog, I find Lucas in the kitchen at the stove. A cup of coffee in one hand, the other holds a fork as he flips a piece of bacon in a pan. Sweet peppers, that’s a sight. Lucas DeCosta cooking in my kitchen. If only he were shirtless, this would be a perfect spank bank memory.
“Feeling better?” he asks with a playful grin. Asshole.
Spotting my cup on the table, I pick it up and lift it to my lips as I attempt a witty comeback. My sluggish state only causes him to chuckle at my expense.
“Don’t mock me. I had tequila last night.”
“I figured by the smell that greeted me. At least it was top shelf,” he says, motioning with the fork to the empty bottle on the counter.
“I didn’t drink the entire thing. Just a few shots. It was a long day. Oh, I saw Jonah and Tom. That was random.”
“Were you at the party they did last night?”
“Yeah, I was working the event. Speaking of random,” I begin before taking another sip of my coffee. “What are you doing here? And, how did you know where I live?”
“You text me last night. Well, it was technically this morning.”
“I did not.” Did I?
“Check your phone. You sure did.”
I quickly grab my phone from my room and return to the kitchen as Lucas is adding cheese to a pan of eggs. I swear if this guy is trying to make me fall in love with him, he’s doing a fine job. Bacon and cheesy eggs. I swear if he put cream cheese on my toast instead of butter, I’m all his.
The moment my eyes land on the series of text messages, I’m not sure food is a good idea. Dread and humiliation are now my name. Like Madonna or Beyoncé only I have two because I’m a dumbass.
Me: Hey you! Whatcha up to?
Me: Don’t answer that. It’s late. I shouldn’t be texting.
Me: Unless . . .
Me: Are you working? If you are then it’s not late.
Me: But if you aren’t then it IS late.
Lucas: Are you drunk?
Me: Noooooooooooo
Me: Maybe.
Lucas: Are you safe? Do you need a ride?
Me: That’s a loaded question Lucas DeCosta.
Oh God! Kill me now. Please. Someone.
Lucas: Oh boy.
Me: You’re not a boy anymore.
Lucas: Whit, are you okay? I can come get you. Where are you?
Me: I’m at home. I’m sorry I was a bitch.
Me: I should have said that sooner. Hold on, I need another drink.
Lucas: I don’t think that’s the case but I’ll wait.
Me: K. I’m back. Want to get breakfast? I’m hungry.
Lucas: You’re drunk is what you are. How about in the morning?
Me: Oh! YES!
Lucas: You’re very excited about this.
Me: Duh. It’s BREAKY!
Lucas: I’ll call you in the morning.
Me: Nope. Just come pick me up at like 8 or 8:30. In there. Yeah that’s a good time.
The texts go on a little more with me attempting to give Lucas directions to the apartment but failing miserably. I did manage to give him the address over the course of three messages and promised to drink water and sleep on my side. I’m a mess.
“I am such a mess,” I mutter in humiliation as a plate of cheesy eggs, bacon, and cream cheesed toast is placed in front of me.
“Oh sorry, that’s mine. You probably don’t want cream cheese on your toast. Here,” he says reaching for the plate to switch, but I pull it closer to me. “Or not.”
“For the record, you’re not a mess. You’re pretty cute when you’re drunk. Chatty as fuck but cute.”
“I’m so embarrassed.”
“Why? We’re friends, Whitney. If you can’t drunk text your friends, who can you?”
“Thank you.”
“For?” he asks as he takes a bite of bacon. I give myself a moment before answering to fully appreciate the man before me. He’s dressed similarly to how he was on our trip: cargo shorts, a tight across the chest T-shirt, and aviator sunglasses on top of his head. His face is cleanly shaven and as he chews I’m mesmerized by the way his mouth moves. My mind goes to a very naughty place. The place that tingles and reminds me it’s been a long fucking time since . . . well, since any fucking. Goddamn I’m a horny bitch.
“Earth to Whitney.”
“Oh, sorry. What was that?”
“You thanked me, and I asked for what.”
“Oh, for not judging me for being a drunken mess last night. It’s been a rough few months. I guess I needed to decompress.”
“It was a bachelorette party?” I nod. “Probably dredged up some memories. I’m glad you texted me though. I’ve been thinking about you.”
“Lucas, I’m sorry for how I left Portland. I freaked out a little. I—”
“Don’t apologize,” he says, cutting me off. “Let’s just move forward, okay? Friends?”
A piece of my heart sinks at his proclamation of friendship. The feelings I have swirling in my mind right now are anything but friendly. Well, maybe with some benefits, but I’ll take what I can get at this point.
“If you keep making me breakfast like this, you can totally have the role of best friend. Jessi never does this for me.”
Laughing, Lucas takes a bite of his eggs and that comfortable silence we had on our trip fills the small kitchen, relaxing me. This is what I need right now. Friends and laughter.