5
HARRIET
He flew from the bed so fast that at first I thought he was repulsed by me, and what we'd done.
"Fuck me!" he said, dropping his phone back down. For a moment he stood there looking like a chicken with its head cut off, unsure of what to do. A nude, beautifully muscled chicken, with purple and yellow bruising along his ribs.
Oh God. All of my insecurities came charging back into my head. He was repulsed by me, and had only slept with me because he was drunk. Now that it was the morning he regretted it, and was horrified by what he'd done! Ice spread inside my chest, the ache of embarrassment, and now I was trapped here before he kicked me out or tried to pretend...
"I'm late for my flight," he said, opening the closet and pulling clothes off hangers. "I'm gunna miss my flight, oh fuck..."
"Flight?"
"I'm supposed to be on a flight that leaves in an hour!" He threw a duffel bag on the ground and began tossing clothes inside without looking.
I stared for several seconds while processing his words. His panic had nothing to do with me.
The relief I felt right then was so debilitating that I fell back into bed with a long sigh.
He pulled a shirt over his head and then zipped up the bag. He rose, took a deep breath, then bent over the bed to kiss me.
"Listen, love. I hate doing this..."
"No, I understand," I said.
"I'm sorry. I really am."
"It's fine!" In a flash of impulse I grabbed his phone, pulled up the contacts, and created one for me. "Now you have my number. Give me a call when you get back."
"I will." He glanced at the phone. "Harriet." My name on his lips tasted sweeter than any candy, and I found myself grinning from ear to ear.
"Help yourself to anything in the kitchen," he said, turning to leave.
"Wait!"
He spun. "Huh?"
"You're, uh, forgetting something." I let my eyes flicker downward.
He flinched when he realized he was completely nude from the waist down, then grabbed a pair of jeans out of the closet and shimmied into them, not bothering with underwear, then sat on the bed to tie his shoes.
"You," he said with a charming smile, "are one very helpful woman. Stay as long as you want, but don't steal anything!"
He gave me another kiss, more passionate and long that for a heartbeat I thought he might stay longer, but then he broke it off and left the room, closing the door behind him with a click.
And then I was alone.
I fell back into the soft sheets of his bed. His smell lingered in the air, a ghost of him that remained for several minutes. I felt a thousand emotions all at once: surprise at myself for going home with him, excitement as I replayed our sex in my head, nervousness at what would come next.
And worry that he might not call. He had my number, but I didn't have his.
No, stop it Harriet! You just had an incredible night with a hot hunk. Don't ruin it by thinking about it too much.
At least, not yet. Give it a day or two.
I dressed and went to the bathroom, and then decided it was time to head home. But as I tip-toed into the living room, a voice called out from the left.
"Sup."
I whirled to see a tall Latino bent over a bowl of cereal. He didn't really look at me; he was busy scrolling through his phone on the counter.
"Uhh, hey."
"Where'd Roland go?" he said, still not looking my way.
"He left. Said he had to catch a plane."
"Oh right. Belize." He shook his head and chuckled. "Motherfucker's always running late."
I struggled to think of something to say, couldn't come up with anything, so I said, "Okay bye!" and bolted from the door like I'd stolen something. I took the stairs two at a time until I was out on the street.
Okay. That's why I wasn't the kind of girl to have a one-night stand. Getting stabbed in an alley was preferable to me than an awkward conversation. And I'm only exaggerating a little.
I pulled up Google Maps on my phone; we were in Cambridge, only 1.2 miles from my apartment. Close enough to walk, especially with the sun making the day feel warmer than it really was.
Thank God I hadn't dressed fancy last night or this would be a stereotypical walk of shame. In jeans and sneakers, it was actually a walk of pleasure! Just a girl out for a stroll.
I stopped to get coffee, and then felt a buzz in my pocket. A text from an unknown number:
UNKNOWN: Sorry again for speeding out of there, love. I had a great time last night.
I grinned so hard that the barista rolled her eyes. I took my coffee, sat down, and thought of something clever to say. As an introvert, I was a thousand times more charming via text than in person.
HARRIET: Don't apologize! After I pawn half your clothes I'm probably up $100. A better night than usual for me.
UNKNOWN: You're getting ripped off, then. My clothes are worth at least $125.
HARRIET: Sounds like I need to find a better pawn shop. Got any jewelry?
UNKNOWN: I'm not gunna HELP you rob me!
HARRIET: It'd speed up the whole process for both of us if you did. You make your flight?
UNKNOWN: By the skin of my teeth. 30 minute delay saved my arse.
Arse. He actually said arse like some Irish cartoon! The smile wouldn't disappear from my face. I spent the next minute typing, deleting, and re-typing what I hoped sounded like a casual farewell:
HARRIET: Have a safe flight. Call me up when you get home if you want to go out again.
UNKNOWN: Will do, thanks love!
I stared at the text for five minutes while my coffee grew cold, then realized I had ten missed texts from Jason and Jon. Checking in, asking where I was. If I was okay.
I texted back that I'd give them details over brunch, then left the coffee shop to head home.
Already I couldn't wait for Roland to get back.