I’ve had one-night stands before. But this—I didn’t expect Carlie to be one of them.
I sit up, trying to tamp down my confusion and panic.
Would she really leave without saying goodbye?
Maybe she’s in the kitchen? Or the bathroom?
Clutching at straws, I throw back the covers and the cool air of the room wraps around me like a shroud. I ignore it, slipping out of bed and grabbing a shirt from the dresser. As quickly as I can, I pull it over my head, trying to calm the chaos in my mind. But nothing I do helps.
I need to check the house.
Once I tug on my sweats, I pad through every room, just to be sure. My movements are mechanical as I navigate through each silent space, the quiet amplifying my growing sense of unease.
By the time I stop at the kitchen, the realization really sinks in.
But she’s not here. There’s no note.
Nonothing.
The house is as empty as the pit in my stomach.
My eye drift out to my backyard, now bathed in early morning sunlight
Why would she leave without saying goodbye?
Especiallyafter …
I run a hand through my hair as the events of last night replay in my mind.
Last night was ...
Fuck, it wasincredible.
It was more than that. The physical connection was intense and real—but it was more than sex. I felt it and I sure as hell know she did.
It was there, in her touch and the way she kissed me.
It felt like we crossed a threshold, reaching a level of intimacy that I’ve only ever come close to once before …
But with that woman, it was all a mirage. An event to take my mind off the fact that I was cheated on and had to deal with that reality every day at work.
And yet, some elements were so similar to that night at the club—the talk of trading truths and the way she wanted me to close my eyes. Being blind left me with the same sensations as having a mask. I had to rely on my other senses and it was hot as hell.
In some ways, it was practically a repeat of that night.
That revelation is strange and sexy, but I shake the thoughts away.
Carlie isn’t anything like the woman that night. She’s sweet and tentative and clumsy at times.
And yet …
The way she moved on top of me—beneath me. The way she held me and stroked my …
“Fuck,” I groan, rubbing my hands over my face.
Why the hell am I comparing Carlie to that woman? Carlie isrealand tangible.
Not some fantasy of a woman I’ll never see again.