Chapter 1: Slow Hands
no chance / that I'm leaving here without you on me
wanna be with you all alone / take me home
no stopping / your plans and those / slow hands
***
I don't usually do one-night stands.
I splash water on my face and stare at my flushed cheeks in the mirror, chastising myself. Okay, yes, he was good. Too good.
A small groan escapes my pink lips. I can feel the subtle ache between my legs, the remnants of my irresponsible evening of carnal bliss. I am definitely going to feel this tomorrow.
I know what comes next. I sigh. Guilty? Maybe a little.
I gently push open the bathroom door and step into my bedroom, pasting a small smile on my face. "Hey," I greet awkwardly, and he turns towards me from where he's sitting on my bed in his briefs.
"Hey." He raises an eyebrow, and I am reminded again how incredibly handsome he is. Impossibly so. His blue eyes sparkle, full lips tilted up at the corners. His thick brown hair is messy—I remember running my fingers through it a little while ago, as he drove me to the best orgasm I've had in a long, long time. Orgasms. Multiple.
How did I just happen to find this beautiful man at a bar? Stop it, Mel. Get it over with, already.
"Look," I begin, stopping short when I realize that I don't remember his name. How is that even possible, the way you were just moaning beneath him? He was very distracting and so mind-blowing that my brain isn't even functioning properly. I look away from him, embarrassed.
He chuckles roughly, wry enough that I roll my eyes. "Gavin," he supplies, his low voice dry and slightly amused.
"Gavin." My smile doesn't reach my eyes. "I'm starting a new job this Monday, so I have to get an early start tomorrow." Honestly, I'll probably sleep in after such an... eventful night, but work is the easiest excuse.
Apparently he's not stupid, because he catches my drift. "You're really going to kick me out this late?" My alarm clock says that it's past two in the morning, but I don't have enough sympathy to care. His eyes glint with humor, and I can tell he's making this difficult for me on purpose.
"Don't take it personally." I realize that I kind of sound like an ass. "As a rule, I don't spend the night with strangers."
He nods, somber. "Of course. I could be dangerous, or something." Those damn eyes still glimmer.
"I'm glad you understand." I cross my arms, watching him expectantly. The air in this room is too warm, and it fills with awkward silence.
With a small breath, he grabs his t-shirt from the floor and tugs it on. I pretend not to watch the lean, tan muscles that stretch as he moves, the smooth, confident motions with which he slips on his jeans, buckles his belt.
As he's about to leave my room, he leans against the door, his gaze travelling over me once more. I put on a robe earlier, so there's not much to see. "So, Melanie, I guess this is good-bye."
"How unfortunate."
He laughs a little, shaking his head. His voice is low and a little rough, and it sends traitorous shivers down my spine. "You were not this disagreeable at the bar." He arches a well-shaped brow. "Or in bed. An hour ago, I could have sworn you liked me."
I blush. "It was very nice spending the evening with you, Gavin. But I'm tired now. I apologize for being so short with you." I don't even try to sound sincere, and he can smell my BS.
He flashes me one last smirk before leaving, and at least it's obvious that he's not offended. I follow him out a few seconds later, watching with a huff of exhaustion as my front door closes after him. I lock it with a click.
Mhm, he was very cute. And funny. So damn charming that I took him home at the end of the night, after a couple drinks.
I try not to remember what came next, the feeling of his large hands raking across my skin, those long, talented fingers and his soft, skillful mouth. Oh.
Man, I was a bitch afterwards.
In my defense, I don't have a lot of practice tossing men out of my bed. And, I really am starting a new job Monday. Building my dream career, no distractions allowed.
Then why did I go to a bar to get laid? Excuse me.
I have needs, and it had been a while. Alison's teasing voice flashes through my mind. That's what best friends are for, to remind you that it's time to get lucky. How did she put it? Get a fresh dose of confidence before you start your new job.
Well, he did make me feel very proficient. While robbing me of my breath and ability to think at the same time.
Gavin.
I'll probably never see him again, anyway.
***
About me.
I graduated from undergrad at U of T at the top of my class, and then got my Masters in Journalism from Ryerson University. A couple weeks ago, I wrapped up my fellowship with the New York Times. Yes, it was as prestigious as it sounds.
And this morning, I'll be starting my first job as a real journalist. The Press, Canada's largest and most trusted news magazine, hires a small group of young journalists every few years, giving them a head-start in their careers.
I've wanted this job for as long as I can remember, and it's finally here.
You get it, right? The industry is cut-throat. To build a name as a trusted and skilled journalist, there are no shortcuts. And I'm prepared for the long haul. Late nights, early mornings, taking my work home to squint at my computer screen at 3 am.
Like I said, no distractions.
***
Song credit: Niall Horan, "Slow Hands"