I tugged the blankets over myself and lay there watching her, debating how I’d end it in the morning. I could crave her more than anything, but it was over. It should never have started to begin with. As I thought up exactly what to say to ease the sting, I watched her steady breathing and my lungs filled with her sweet scent.

Just once more. I should have woken her up, spread her legs wide and taken her again. Had I known that I’d wake up alone, I would have.

I lean back in my seat, letting out the aggravation in a groan as I watch the security footage again. She slipped out just before dawn, leaving only a note behind. I watch in amusement as she keeps looking up from the pad of small sticky notes she’d found on my kitchen counter. The pen never even touched the paper for a full two minutes as she contemplated what to write.

She’s lost and confused. She doesn’t even know what she wants.

But I do.

I fidget with the yellow sticky note, passing it from my middle finger to my pointer and back again mindlessly.

Thank you.

If last night was more than just last night …

I trace the delicate, feminine script of the letters. She was made to tempt men. I’m convinced of it. Everything from her soft sighs to the way she carries herself.

It’s as if she was designed to lure me in unknowingly.

Even the way she’s written her phone number calls to me. Each graceful curve makes my fingers itch to punch in the numbers on my phone.

Weakness. Stupidity.

Last night was a one-time thing. I don’t have to call her. I don’t owe her anything and I’m sure she doesn’t expect a damn thing either.

Why does that bother me even more?

The sticky note moves from finger to finger more rapidly now. I know I shouldn’t call her. Nothing good can come from this.

My eyes look back to her message and focus on her phone number.

Selfish. So fucking selfish.

That’s the problem, though. I just don’t give a damn about anyone else. The thought is what strengthens my resolve. It’s all going to come crumbling down around me soon. I deserve to enjoy what little time I have left.

Julia

Water drips from the spout of the iron faucet. I grip the side of the claw-foot porcelain tub, the water splashing slightly in the silent room as I get comfortable. Then I rest my cheek against the cool hard porcelain and watch the water as it continues to drip.

The water’s nearly lukewarm by now, but I don’t want to get out. My wet hair clings to my skin as I sink in deeper, letting the water climb to my neck. My legs sway from side to side and I listen to the steady rhythm of the dripping water.

Part of me wants to pretend like last night didn’t happen. And this morning—I close my eyes and bring my hands up to my face, embarrassed by the memory. There’s nothing in etiquette class about how to leave your one-night stand.

My throat feels raw as I take in a breath, remembering how last night felt. His hands on my body, his chest against mine as he rocked in and out of me, mercilessly, ruthlessly.

I’ve never ... I swallow thickly, hating that I’m even comparing last night to what I had with my husband. I feel like I’ve betrayed Jace but I just let myself fall into the water, as if I can wash it all away.

No amount of time spent in this tub will cleanse the sins of last night.

One good thing’s come of it, though. The words are flowing through me so easily now. All I’ve done since I’ve been home is write. I shouldn’t be happy about that; I shouldn’t feel like a weight has been lifted, but I do. Every single thing I’ve written since my husband’s passing has been dark and stunted. It’s nothing that I would willingly choose to write. My poetry has always been a happy place and now I have a piece of that back.

The pain in my chest though, the way my heart feels tight and my lungs too crushed to breathe, that’s because I don’t regret it.

I feel guilty that I don’t feel guilty. How does that even make sense?

Ping. I groan at the sound, squeezing my eyes tight. I must’ve been more than a bit tipsy last night to let Sue act as my conscience. She won’t leave me alone. There were way too many texts waiting for me this morning for her to have gone home with anyone last night.

I woke up to a myriad of messages.

Please tell me he didn’t kill you.

I’m so sorry if he did, though!

Seriously, are you okay? Text me later!

She thinks she’s funny. I thought I was doing a good thing by letting her know I was still alive and unharmed, but all that did was open a floodgate of questions.

She’s finding more joy in this than I am, which makes me laugh.

I can’t help the way my lips beg me to smile and the way my heart flutters. Sue’s having a good time teasing me. Ping. I turn my head to the right, to where my towel and phone are sitting on the marble bench.

I can only imagine what she wants to know this time.

“I can’t hide in here forever,” I say under my breath, finally lifting myself out of the comfort of the tub. I lean down and pull the plug, letting the cool air hit my heated skin.

It was nice while it lasted and after last night, it did my body good to relax in here. As I lean over to grab the towel, the sensitive bits between my thighs ache again with slight pain. It’s a good kind of hurt though, the kind that lets you know you’ve been properly laid. I laugh slightly into the towel and dry off my body, then work on patting my hair dry. My feet pad softly against the black-and-white penny tile floor.

The bathroom matches the estate’s classic interior. Every accent and piece of decor reflect the timing of when the house was built. There are a few modern pieces, but they only accentuate the charm of the classic architecture. It’s expensive to maintain, but the beauty is unmatched.

I continue towel-drying my long hair as the memories of renovating the house come to me one by one. The bit of happiness I’d claimed only moments ago vanishes.

Jace and I got into so many fights over this tile. I can see him standing in front of the mirror, glaring at me for being stubborn. It’s my family’s house, though. This isn’t an Anderson estate. I inherited it when my parents moved from the city. We both knew I was far more well-off than he ever was. The steamy glass doesn’t hide the past. I can hear his voice; I can see it all like it was just yesterday.

But the memories are from years ago, and he’s never coming back.

Ping. This time when the phone goes off, I can’t help but want to cling to whatever Sue’s said. She could ask how big he is and I’d give her every detail including the veins. I’d be eternally grateful for a distraction right now. I take a seat on the bench, wincing as my sore bottom rests against the hard marble and pick up the damn phone.

It’s not her.

Well, this last message isn’t.

I have three from Sue, all wanting to know details about what I did with Mason last night. I roll my eyes and let out a small snort at her question about size. Of course she would ask me. I knew it.

By the looks of him, he should be packing ... but I’m going to guess he’s only four inches. Am I right?

She cracks me up. She’s been sending me these kinds of messages all day. Anything to get me talking.

Nope, only three, I type back just to give her something to laugh about. She deserves it. Without all these messages and prodding, I’m not sure how I would have handled this on my own.