SEVENTEEN
The sun basks on my face forcing me to wake.
A begrudging groan slips out of my mouth, and simple tasks like opening my eyes become all too much. Turning my head, I bury my face into the silk pillow, attempting to fall back to sleep.
That is until the memory of last night comes flashing back.
“Argh …”I complain again.
After returning to the room, I’m ashamed to admit I took things into my hands. I can’t remember the last time I’d done it, nor come that quickly. The truth is, my head is not pounding, and Hunter’s advice worked.
Maybe, I should thank him.
Yeah, sure. How awkward would that be?
Unable to sleep any longer with my stupid thoughts, I lean over to grab my phone, only to knock it over onto the ground.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter, attempting to half-hang over the bed to retrieve it. This weekend is not starting off to be the greatest, not to mention I still have the issue of my car. Considering I’m trying to save money to get my own place, throwing money at a stupid car is going to set me back.
As I lay back down, there’s a text message on the screen, but I don’t recognize the number.
Unknown:Your car is fixed. Just in case you’re wondering why it suddenly starts.
Me:Who is this?
Unknown:Is that how you talk to your boss?
My eyes widen when Hunter reveals it’s him, but I can’t help but grin, then feel guilty for doing so.
Me:Technically, I don’t report directly to you. However, I can be on my best behavior, Mr. Cash.
Hunter:You’re dangerous …
My stomach flutters reading his message. So, I didn’t imagine things last night? Surely, I’m not that naïve. He is a man, a man with needs. I’m a woman, a young one at that.
Though he has a point, this is dangerous. I don’t know how to respond, but I have to before this escalates.
Me:Thank you.
Shit! Why did I hit send so quickly? Why has no one invented an unsend option yet?
Me:I meant to say thank you for fixing my car.
Me:Have a good weekend.
The text messages end. At least, he doesn’t respond. My last message sounded stupid, especially if I ran into him somewhere in the house. I pull the bed sheet over me, wishing to crawl into a hole and die.
With a sense of urgency, I grab my phone again with this urge to google him. Quickly typing his name, the screen fills up with results within seconds. Most of what appears are articles on his company, stuff which bores me. There’s nothing on his personal life except for his grandfather and his passing about two years ago.
I switch to images mode, but it’s mainly pictures of him in a suit. Frustrated, I abandoned my search, unsure of what I was looking for.
My finger taps on my phone, dialing Millie’s number. I need perspective, and if anyone can give it to me, it’s my sister who fooled around with a guy ten years older than her.
“Alexa,” she greets. “What’s up?”
“Are you home?”
“Yeah, Will took the boys to watch some baseball game.”