Page 25 of Operation Annulment
“I hope you used protection,” she says with a sigh. “Tell Benjamin hello for me. We’ll just see you both tomorrow for Sunday dinner.”
I hang up and stare at the phone in shock. Maybe I’m not the only one who drank too much last night. I fall back onto the pillow and throw my arm over my eyes to block out the late morning sun.
Everything hurts, and I’m dying.
And where is Nate?
I take his t-shirt off long enough to put on my underwear and then venture out into the living room. A quick check of the house confirms my suspicions—he’s gone.
Maybe he leaves, so it’s not awkward. I guess this is something he does a lot. The thought of him with other women has my stomach in knots. I find my dress on the bathroom floor and slip it on.
I catch sight of my reflection on the way out and stop in my tracks. I look terrible. My face is pale, and my hair is sticking out everywhere. I fish a ponytail holder out of my purse and assemble my hair into a messy bun.
It’s not great, but it’ll work until I get home. I imagine the author of The Modern Gal’s Guide to Casual Sex would probably shake their head in disappointment, but in my defense, I didn’t plan on going home with him or anyone else last night. I grab my heels under the bed and slip them on, resisting the urge to snoop through his things.
In my rush to escape the scene of the crime, I don’t stop to question whether he has a security system, something I regret immensely once I open the front door and an alarm starts blaring.
Who sets the alarm when they’ve got a houseguest?
After staring blankly at the keypad for half a second, I bolt down the front steps. My heel catches on the last step and breaks off, sending me tumbling onto the sidewalk with a groan.
Knowing the cops are likely already en route, I plant my palms against the pavement and scramble to my feet. Like a modern-day Cinderella, I leave the broken heel behind because I cannot afford to be arrested.
Tears spill onto my cheeks as I limp down the sidewalk. An olderwoman stands on her porch, watching my speed walk of shame with a furrowed brow.
“Don’t mind me. Just doing my daily run in heels,” I mutter, angrily swiping at the tears.
I make it two blocks before I’m forced to ditch the remaining heel and pause long enough to catch my breath. There’s a strong possibility my SUV has been towed from the bar, and I have no idea where I am in relation to my apartment.
There’s a street sign at the intersection up ahead. From there, I can order an Uber or Nicole—literally anyone but Nan or Dakota.
A vehicle approaches from behind, and I lower my head, letting my hair form a curtain around my face. Maybe they’ll see me and assume I’m someone from the neighborhood, just out enjoying a morning stroll.
Barefoot. In a mini dress. In one of the more prestigious subdivisions in Lubbock.
Yep, I definitely won’t stand out.
“There you are!” Nate calls through the open passenger window. “I thought I’d make it back before you woke up.”
He looks like a million bucks, while I look like I’ve been run through a trash compactor. I self-consciously smooth my tangled hair, avoiding his penetrative stare. “Yeah, I’m just heading home now.”
“Were you going to leave without saying goodbye? Wait, did you think I left as like a—I don’t know—a hint for you to do the same because—” His phone rings through the car’s speakers, and he holds up a hand before answering. “Hello?”
“Mr. Davis?”
He switches to the call to his phone. “Yes, this is him. You can cancel that. Yeah, the door didn’t shut all the way. Oh, it’s—” he pauses to lower his voice. “Ringo Starr. Yep, thank you.”
As much as I want to keep what remains of my pride intact, I can’t help but ask, “Would your alarm passcode happen to be Ringo Starr, by any chance?”
He brushes the non-existent dust from the gearshift, refusing to look at me. “Maybe.”
“And that would be because…” I trail off, my mouth lifting in a wide grin.
“Because… I like The Beatles, so sue me,” he admits before rubbing his thumb over his lower lip. “Want to tell me why you’re running away?”
My heart stills at the wounded look in his eyes. “I thought you left. I didn’t know if you were in the habit of taking women home and having them show themselves out the next morning or what. Where did you go?”
He nods to the drinks in the cupholders and grabs a brown paper bag from the passenger seat. “Greasy food and caffeine, the cure-all for even the worst hangovers. I left a note next to the bottle of water and aspirin on the nightstand, but I’m going to go out a limb here and assume you didn’t see it.”
