LEAH
Why is he looking at me like that? I wondered.
Jarrod was grinning like a fool as he approached me. My heartbeat picked up until I felt breathless, like I was flat out sprinting.
Am I nervous? Why am I nervous?
I looked down and realized I was laying on my side, completely naked. My hand was patting the comforter beside me.
Jarrod reached the bed and stroked a hand softly down my face. My eyes fluttered. I groaned with a raspy breath.
His fingers trail down my cheek to my collarbone to my breast, where he circled my pink bud. My skin puckered under his touch.
I jerked awake, flying up into a sitting position. My lungs flailed for air while I searched the room for Jarrod and grabbed at my body, feeling for bare skin.
Thankfully, I was still wearing the suffocatingly tight dress from last night.
However, an arm that did not belong to me was slung around my hips. I stared down at the lump under the bedding while I tried to remember who the hell was in my bed.
Oh, god. Did I sleep with Jarrod last night? Hookup with a stranger? Why couldn't I remember anything after speed dating?
Peeling back the bedding, relief flooded me. The arm was pearly white, slender, and without any trace of hair. Definitely female, and definitely Isabelle.
My pulse slowed a little when I recognized Isabelle's tell-tale complexion. Sagging against the headboard, I took a long breath to calm my lingering edge.
I wouldn't have slept with Jarrod anyway. He wasn't good for me. Even drunk-me I understood this.
So why was I a little disappointed that it was my best friend in my bed and not my kinda-sorta-ex? I was apparently having wet dreams about him too.
Whatever. While a sexy man would've been a pleasant surprise, I knew I wasn't ready to jump anything so fast again.
Just look where that got me last time.
A surge of bile then decided to yeet up my throat. Shoving off the covers, I crawled to the end of the bed and fell onto the floor.
"Oh no," I grumbled.
The bile seeped into my mouth and coated my tongue in a heinous flavor. I barely had the strength to drag myself to the toilet in time to spew burning acid from somewhere deep inside.
Once the vomiting ended, I flushed the toilet and watched the discolored water swirl down into Wonderland. I fought to catch my breath and calm the turbulent tide that was my stomach.
However, just moments later, the nausea hit me again with full force. I should have known my misery wasn't over.
I was still dry heaving when Isabelle wandered in. "What the hell?"
Groaning, I sat back on my heels and wiped my mouth. This fucking sucks. I want to die.
"You alive?" Isabelle prodded, examining me like I was an alien.
I winced as a headache lanced through the left side of my brain. "Yep. Barely, but yes."
My knees cracked and my thighs quivered as I stood up. I tried to remember what would've made me this sore, but last night was mostly hazy after that absurd dating event.
Hobbling over to the sink, I scrubbed the sticky makeup off my face from last night and any lingering traces of Smirnoff from my tongue. My haggard reflection scrutinized the clothes hanging onto me by threads.
My tube top had rotated so one boob was hanging out, while my skirt was hiked so high I could practically see my vagina falling out the bottom. God, I really was a mess when drunk.
Isabelle was no longer present when I made my way back into the bedroom. I gladly shed my nightlife skin, tossing the clothes into the hamper, and hobbled over to the dresser for something more cozy.
I was still jerking my sweatpants on when Isabelle came storming into the room. Her inky black hair was a bees nest that indelicately brought out the rings of dead mascara caked around her eyes.
"There is no coffee," she stated bluntly.
Giving her a look of disbelief, I finished pulling my pants on and shrugged a baggy shirt over my head. "There should be."
"Well, there wasn't. I looked everywhere."
"Uh huh."
She had the attention span of a goldfish, and I was well acquainted with her investigative skills. Spoiler alert: they weren't that great.
I shuffled out to the kitchen with her in my wake. She chattered on, but I couldn't hear her over the pain bouncing around in my skull.
"I don't think I'm ever going out with you again," I said. "I always drink too much and feel like shit the next day."
"Not always," she said. "And it's not my fault you mix liquors."
"That's a myth," I reminded her.
"Then drink more water, hoe."
Rolling my eyes, I grabbed a new bag of coffee grinds from the cupboard above the sink. I handed it over to her. "Well, regardless, I feel like a skanky sorority girl. I'll be thirty soon, for God's sake. I can't keep partying all the time."
"First of all, it's not all the time. Secondly, you have four good years before thirty," she reminded me while pouring the grinds into the machine. "If you think you're old, just remember I'm a year and a half older. So don't insult me with your quarter life crisis."
"That insinuates that we're going to live to be 120," I said. "But, beside the point. You are further along than me in your life, anyway. You're practically married to Sebastian. You have a secure job with good income—"
"So do you! And you own your own house. That's way more advanced than most women our age."
I leaned my back against the counter and huffed. "That doesn't seem grown up enough. When I was a teenager, I wanted to be married by now and having babies soon. Where did that dream go?"
"Oh, no." Isabelle shook her head and squished my cheeks together with her icy hands. "We were all idiots when we were teenagers. Did anything happen the way we wanted it to? Hell no. You are doing way fucking better than you think, cowgirl. Don't worry about getting married and having kids."
She punctuated each word by moving my cheeks back and forth while I glared at her.
"Enjoy. Your. Tight. Pussy. Now. While. You. Got. It."
I bursted into laughter and she did the same, her hands falling away from my face.
After an hour or so of recuperation and coffee, Isabelle headed home. I fed Foxy and gave her attention so she wouldn't claw up my shit in revenge.
Then I decided to hunt down my phone from the room to call my mom. It had been awhile since we'd spoken and I felt like maybe a visit to see her could be arranged.
Only when I picked up my phone, all thoughts of my mother flew out the window. Two texts and a slew of random Instagram notifications filled my lock screen. Both from men I did not expect to be talking to today.
UNKNOWN: hey you😊it was nice seeing you last night. Interested in getting dinner Wednesday night?
JARROD: good morning baby. hope you've rested well. can't seem to get you off my mind. please let me know how things are going for you. I'd love to see you again, just one more time at least. I know I fucked up but I would never hurt you intentionally. Please come to your senses and talk to me. I miss you terribly.
I read Jarrod's message several times.
Just as I had salivated over each message and voicemail he sent, I couldn't help but study every word. He sounded so sweet and so caring.
Who was I kidding? He'd been actually sweet and caring with me in person. He was sweet.
But then that last bit at the end—please come to your senses.
I sighed annoyedly. Just because I rejected him didn't mean I was acting dumb.
In fact, I stood by the decision I made. As hard of a time as I was having getting over him, I knew I had to just suffer through it.
I didn't trust Jarrod. Period.
On the spare chance we could rebuild some semblance of trust, he had a lot of baggage. A psycho ex and a handful of family issues. If I was going to jump into a relationship, I should at least pick someone a little less complicated.
It wasn't worth responding to his message. If I did, he'd guilt me into meeting him again and who knew what he could talk me into. I might have been weak for him but at least I could acknowledge it.
I should block him. There was no sense in keeping his contact when I knew it would just bring me bad news.
So I did. Jarrod and all the weird shit he put me through the last few weeks . . . it was over.
I read back over the other text. Who the hell was that? I didn't remember giving anyone my number.
On the one hand, I wanted to ignore the text and write it off as a stupid, drunk decision. The other hand was curious to know who I gave my number to.
As much as I didn't feel ready to move on, maybe I should try something casual for once. Isabelle was right—I should enjoy my youth. And if I wasn't able to get Jarrod out of my head on my own, maybe losing myself in some spicy new sex would help.
Doubtful, but it was worth a try. If this was a flop, I'd just forget it and try again or give up for a while.
So I decided to dive headfirst into this decision, praying that my drunk self had better taste than my sober self.
LEAH: Wednesday sounds good. See you then