Brain Games

17. Twice

I shut the door behind Brad with a soft click and lock up, pressing my back to the wood after, my legs still feeling a bit like Jell-O. Pulling my robe tighter around my body, I sag back further into the door, observing my clothes still scattered on the kitchen floor.

I do a quick once over my apartment, noticing the mail piled on the kitchen table, the dishes in the sink, the miscellaneous boxes I still haven't unpacked yet lining the wall between the kitchen and living room, and the way the decorative pillows are thrown lazily, haphazardly on the couch. Did I even make my bed this morning?

Doesn't really matter. Your sheets are definitely ruffled now.

In the mix of everything, I didn't even think about the state of my apartment. Not that's its dirty, just a little unorganized at the moment. But Brad strikes me as the neat freak type. I bet his home is spotless, everything neatly placed and organized. The man doesn't even have a stray water bottle or any sort of miscellaneous thing in his car. Ever. Not even a gum wrapper stuffed in one of the cup holders.

Oh well. If he thinks my apartment is messy, he can kiss my ass.

You'd like that, wouldn't you?

Oh shut up.

Maybe—hopefully—he was just as distracted as I was and didn't even notice any details about my apartment. Although, his eyes did seem to wonder as we both got dressed and did the awkward walk of shame to my front door. Ugh. Please tell me things aren't going to remain awkward.

Scrubbing my hands over my face, still too mushy brained to think about this right now, I push off the door and collect my clothes from the floor. I carry them to the hamper in my room, a shiver running down my spine as I take in the rumpled sheets across my bed, everything flashing back. It's like the ghost of him is still present, the feel of his hands still burning my body.

An unexpected trill of excitement rushes through me, not believing that just happened. I just had a one night stand with Brad. Bradly Gallow. Of all people.

I laugh. Unable not to.

The slightest noise comes from the other side of my wall and I laugh even harder. Not only have the tables turned and now I'm the one keeping my neighbors up by having wild sex past midnight, but they now think I'm a complete psycho, laughing like a mad woman after.

On a post sex, euphoric high, I give them a forceful middle finger—even though they can't see me—hoping they can feel the vengeance of it through the wall. But in case they can't, I smack the wall for good measure before stripping my sheets, putting on new ones, and heading for the shower.

*

The weekend goes by far too quick and my Monday goes by far too slow. After today, I actually want to go to a gym, a place I rarely frequent, just so I can hit something. Repeatedly. Full force. Because it's either that or rip my hair out. And I prefer my hair, no matter how much the curls can be a pain in the ass sometimes.

Walking into the locker room, I slump down onto the bench in front of my locker, massaging my temples.

Today, I had a lady that was nuttier than chunky peanut butter. After running some labs on her, and going over her results, noting her blood type is B-, she argued with me for over twenty minutes that her blood type is O-. Despite what the papers right in front of me said.

I even went back in her chart to previous blood work to show her she, in fact, does have a B- blood type. But she refused to believe me. She absolutely insisted she has O- and I'm lying to her face or someone went in and purposefully changed her blood type in her chart.