Good Time(29)

If he hadn’t already ruined me with the two most perfect orgasms of my life, this moment would have done the trick all on its own. This simple moment of intimacy, the feel of his bare chest under my cheek, his heartbeat in my ear, the gentle caress of his fingers.

Sex is weird. Why did I think this was a good idea? Would it have killed me to think something all the way through for once? Before diving in headfirst and making it worse?

Is it better to have fucked and lost than never to have fucked at all?

Not fucked is the answer here.

Not fucked, because I’d have been better off not knowing how good we were together. It’d make what comes next so much easier to handle.

Right on cue, he ruins it. Exactly like I knew he would.

“We need to talk about last night.”





Chapter Fifteen





Sometimes fate does me a solid. Like right now, because my phone has chosen this exact moment to sound an alarm. Why I’ve got an alarm set for Sunday afternoon, I’ve no idea, but my phone is annoyingly chiming from the kitchen all the same.

See? Fate.

I slide out of Vince’s embrace with a, “Hold on,” then slip my t-shirt over my head as I dash into the other room to grab it because there is nothing more agitating than the alarm tone on a phone. Then I see what the alarm was for.

Life coaching. I’ve got a life coaching appointment in fifteen minutes. Fine, it’s Meghan’s life coaching session if you want to be bogged down by the tiny details, but I think we can all agree that I could really use some guidance. Honestly there’s probably not a person in the greater Las Vegas metropolitan area who needs it more than me.

Why on earth did I set an alarm only giving me a fifteen-minute warning? Obviously I assumed I was going to be dressed at one forty-five in the afternoon or I’d have set the alarm to go off earlier. Crap, I don’t have much time. And if I miss this appointment I won’t know when the next appointment is because it’s not like I can reschedule. That settles it, I really have to go.

“I have a thing!” I announce as I run back into my bedroom. “An appointment. I’m sorry, I’ve got to run. I’m so late!” I slide my underpants up my legs in what must be the least sexy exit in the history of fleeing the consummation of a marriage ever to have occurred. This is followed by the classic hop-hop-hop to get my yoga pants pulled over my ass.

So sexy.

I’m sure I already ruined any fantasy Vince could possibly have had about marrying a sex vixen when I told him I drank Gatorade in the shower, so no point dwelling on it now anyway.

Vince pulls himself to sitting in the bed with a huff and a sigh and is now rubbing his temples with his fingers. Fucking drama llama. I snap my bra up from the floor but decide I don’t have time to deal with it so I just loop it over my arm and then swipe all the things spread across my dresser back into my tiny clutch. Minus the condoms and lube because I’ve learned my tiny purse lesson and I won’t be needing those.

I stuff my feet into the first pair of flip flops I come across then whirl back towards Vince, bra in one hand, clutch in the other. “We will talk”—I point the bra hand at him before realizing it’s my bra hand—“later,” I add once I’ve tucked the bra hand to my chest.

Vince leans back against my headboard, watching me. He’s not attempted to interrupt my blathering, just watched quietly as I moved through the room like a whirlwind on my way out the door. I’m not sure what he’s thinking because he’s not saying anything and he’s got a really great resting neutral face. A resting neutral face is when you are unable to guess what that person is thinking because they’re not giving you any obvious facial cues and you are not a mind reader.

I know, I know. I could… ask. I could ask him what he’s thinking. Talk to him. Behave like the adult my driver’s license claims me to be. I just need a second to think and I’ve got this appointment and—I’m a jerk.

A jerk with twelve minutes to crash another life coaching session.

In case you’re wondering, I do manage to put my bra on in the car. It’s a pretty magical feat that requires a whole lot of fidgeting, some extraordinary stretching and a long red light, but it’s on. I make it to Grind Me with two minutes to spare, throw my car into park and run inside. In my yoga pants, t-shirt, flip flops and my clutch from last night.

I’m such a hot mess.

Carol the life coach is already at a table with a cup of something in front of her. Meghan has a drink in hand and is just about to sit down.

Okay, play this cool. I stroll up to the counter like I’m not in a hurry and order an iced coffee. Then I change it to just a regular ole cup of hot coffee because that’s faster and I don’t want to miss the first few minutes of Meghan’s meeting waiting on a barista. I do stop long enough to add cream and sweetener because I can’t talk myself into drinking black coffee no matter how much of a hurry I’m in.

Then I slip into an empty table next to Carol and Meghan. That’s when I realize I’ve forgotten my headphones. I’ve also forgotten to grab a stack of napkins, so I can’t pretend to be an artist crafting the next great American novel on coffee shop napkins because I’m too precious or pretentious to type. I don’t have a pen in this handbag anyway, so I’ve failed on all counts. Which leaves me with… being a weirdo in a coffee shop.