Page 4 of Not My Finest Hour

And…oh, God.

Now I remember how we got to the actual act. I practically attacked him. I remember straddling him on the couch, basically throwing myself at him, and him asking me if I was sure I wanted to. Nothing was going to stop me from having sex last night. Nothing.

Oh, no.

Did I force Justin into doing something he didn’t want to do? Surely he would’ve said something, right?

Right at that moment, he comes into the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. He smiles when he sees me. I want to get a good look at him in the daylight and appreciate what’s in front of me, but I can’t look him in the eye.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be awake yet. How are you feeling this morning?”

I give a half-hearted shrug and barely glance his way. “I’m okay. How are you?”

“I’m fine.” He stands there, taking in my appearance. “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem quiet this morning.”

I might as well just come out with it. “Did I…force you into anything last night?”

He smiles, his concern for me dissipating. “Relax. We didn’t do anything I didn’t already want to do. I could’ve said no.”

“Even as I was straddling your lap and grinding on top of you?” I ask, grinning at the memory.

He nods, then leans in to give me a peck on the lips. “Even then.”

“In that case, any chance for round two this morning?”

“You mean round three?” he asks, giving me a sly look.

“Round three?” How did I not remember us having sex a second time last night? Maybe I wasn’t as lucid as I thought.

He chuckles. “I’m kidding. There was only the round one. I wish I had time for round two, but I’m already running behind.”

“Behind? What time do you normally wake up?” If this is late for him, I’d hate to see what’s early.

“Usually four-thirty because I try to get in a run, but I didn’t mind sleeping in this morning. You seemed very cozy, and I didn’t want to disturb you. And I didn’t want to leave the house in case you woke up while I was gone. I would’ve hated if you dashed off without me getting your number.”

“I wouldn’t have left,” I say, lying through my teeth. That thought definitely did cross my mind.

“If you don’t mind, I need to get dressed. The bathroom is yours if you need it. I went ahead and got you a pair of shorts and a T-shirt from my closet. They’re on the bathroom counter. I don’t expect them to fit well, but they might be a little nicer to wear around than what you had on last night. Not that I didn’t like your outfit last night…”

He doesn’t bother elaborating and doesn’t need to. He told me multiple times how sexy I looked in my skirt, even as he was sliding it off me. “Thanks. I’ll just be a few minutes.” I sit up in the bed, still keeping the sheets wrapped around me, and right before he steps into the walk-in closet, he turns toward me.

“I’d like to make you breakfast before you leave. How do you take your eggs? I mean, assuming you eat eggs. If you don’t, I can make you something else.”

I smile at his concern for getting even the smallest details right. “Eggs are fine. And I’ll take them scrambled, please.”

I grab my underwear off the floor, and in the bathroom, I slip on the clothes he set out for me. He’s right. They don’t fit well, and I have to roll the waistband on the shorts over a few times to get them to stay up. But the shirt fits fine, albeit a little baggy. I look down at what’s on the shirt, and it’s from some 5K race that happened last year called the Salmon Run. I use the bathroom, then glance at my reflection in the mirror as I’m washing my hands. The post-sex, wearing-someone-else’s-clothes look isn’t exactly doing me any favors, but it’s all I’ve got. At least my hair looks okay and last night’s mascara isn’t all over the place.

I leave the bathroom and head down the hallway into the kitchen where Justin is at the stove moving a spatula around a pan. He’s dressed in a pair of dark gray dress slacks, a white button-down shirt, and a pink tie.

The kitchen is dated and small, with only a two-seater table in the corner. The tile counter is pale yellow, and the tile backsplash is a coordinating light blue. Right near the table is a door leading to the outside, and above the table is a window that faces the neighbor’s house. Outside, the clouds are thick and heavy, so our only source of light is a small fixture in the middle of the ceiling.

“Go ahead and have a seat at the table,” he says, gesturing toward it. “Your eggs will be ready in a minute.”

On the table is a plate with some toast on it. Containers of butter and jam flank the plate. There are two coffee mugs sitting across from one another, one full with black coffee and the other empty.

“I assume the empty one is mine?” I ask, picking it up.

“If you take creamer, it’s in the fridge, and the sugar is right there.” He points to a container on the counter.

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