Page 13 of Chips & Checks
Murph chuckles, but it sounds quieter than before. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
I scramble out of bed, suddenly aware of every naked inch of skin. “I’m gonna wash up real quick, and then I’ll go.”
“Already? We could totally try for round two.”
It’s just one word. But it lands like a boulder.
His voice is low, unsure, like maybe he wasn’t expecting me to bolt. Like maybe he wasn’t ready for the goodbye, even though this was his whole idea.
I glance back at him. His eyes track me like he doesn’t want to, like maybe he’s realizing that for the first time in forever… he doesn’t want to be alone afterward.
“I’ve got work in the morning,” I lie.
Because the truth is scarier.
The truth is: I need to get out of here before I ask him to hold me. Before I let my stupid heart start writing poetry about a man who told me this was just sex.
Because I wouldn’t survive another round.
I make it to the bathroom on legs that don’t feel steady. Five minutes. That’s all I give myself to fix my makeup, calm my pulse, and pretend I’m fine.
When I step out, he’s still lying there—naked, glorious, rumpled like a god who just fell to earth. But something’s shifted. His smirk is gone. His eyes are shadowed. And his fingers are laced together like he knows he messed up by letting me walk away without asking me to stay.
I gather my clothes and pull them on like armor. “This was fun.”
He nods. Says nothing. Just watches me.
And for a second—just a second—he looks like he’s about to speak. Like he’s going to break his own rule.
But he doesn’t.
And neither do I.
So I prepare to leave him, pretending it was nothing. While everything inside me screams that it wasn’t just sex, I keep my face neutral, my steps measured. This is new for me. A first. But there’s no shame in my so-called walk of shame.
If anything, I feel… proud. Like I reached out and took something just for me. A gift freely offered by someone who got exactly what he wanted, too. It was good. It was incredible. And I regret nothing. Still, my throat tightens as I turn back to him.
“Thank you,” I say quietly. “For tonight.”
Murph sits up a little, the sheet falling low on his hips. “Let me walk you down. Make sure you get to your Lyft safely.”
“I’m good.” I grab my purse, my voice gentler now. “Pepper spray. Tiny knife. Professional training. I promise—I’ve got it covered.”
His smile is soft, hesitant. “I still want to make sure.”
I hesitate, then meet his eyes. “Do you trust me?”
A pause. A beat too long.
“I do,” he says.
But his voice is quiet. Like he doesn’t want to.
I nod and take one step back toward the bed. I lean in and press a kiss to his cheek—soft, lingering, stupid—then whisper, “Sweet dreams, Murph.” And I walk out before I make the mistake of crawling right back into his arms.
Chapter Two
Bowen
