Page 88 of The Close-Up
I can imagine it now: we’ll end up arguing nonstop about one of us working too much and how we don’t see each other enough, like so many other couples. Once the hot-and-heavy phase dies down, our spark will fizzle. Or maybe we’ll get jealous of each other and it’ll all end in a huge blowout.
My chest tightens when I think about how I—or both of us—will be left heartbroken.
I know better. And that’s why I need to leave now before I fall any deeper.
Last night was a fantasy for sure. And now it’s back to real life.
Holding my breath, I wait a minute until I hear Simon’s snores grow louder, signaling that he’s in a deep sleep. Then I quietly, slowly slide out from under his arm and crawl off the bed. I carefully turn around as I step away, taking in the image before me. Simon rests on his side, eyes closed, hair messy, his chest slowly rising and falling. I bite my lip, my heart thudding at how peaceful and enticing he looks. As much as I owe him an explanation for what I’m about to do, I don’t want to wake him.
So instead, I dart to the bathroom and pull on my underwear and jeans, thankful that they narrowly missed being spewed on during Amy’s vomiting episode last night. I eye my soaked blouse, which is still sitting in the sink. There’s no way I can wear that in its current state or even take it with me. I scan the bathroom floor, relieved when I see a T-shirt of Simon’s near the door. I throw it on, then tiptoe out and scan the darkened room for my purse. I spot it near the coffee table. I scoop it up along with my camera bag and creep to the front door. My hand is on the doorknob when I hear sheets rustling behind me.
Simon clears his throat. “Going somewhere?”
My heart sinks, but I make myself turn around anyway. “Um. Yeah,” I say softly.
Simon sits up in bed, sheets pooled around his waist. He rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands before running his fingers through his hair. I have to silently remind myself to stay put. The sleepyhead version of Simon is a whole new kind of scrumptious. I’d leap back in bed with him right this minute if he weren’t looking at me with suspicion in his groggy eyes.
“You were sneaking out,” he says.
I’m surprised at how non-accusatory he sounds. I take a breath, wishing my heart would stop pounding. This is my body dreading the impending disaster. It won’t stop reacting like this until I’m far, far away from this mess.
“Wanna tell me why?” He frowns.
I shake my head.
He lets out an annoyed sigh. “It would help if you used words, Naomi.”
“Okay, look. I’m sorry you caught me trying to leave, but... I’m freaking out a little.”
He eyes his shirt shrouding my torso. “A little?”
“Okay. A lot.”
There’s a flash in his golden eyes. Like pain and frustration mixed together. It makes my chest crack in half.
“What the hell even is this, Naomi?”
“Last night was amazing. You were amazing. But aren’t you worried at all?”
“About what?” He looks genuinely confused.
“We’re friends. We work together. We just blurred the lines in the most epic way. We did the one thing you’re never, ever supposed to do with your friend or your coworker.”
The twist in his expression eases a bit, like he’s trying to understand exactly how I feel and why I’m freaking out.
“Okay. I understand what you’re saying,” he says. “We definitely threw a wrench in things last night. But do you honestly think that running away is the way to handle it?”
“I don’t know what else to do.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “How about talk to me?”
A hot flash makes its way across my skin. “Please don’t talk to me like I’m a client you’re trying to treat.”
“Then don’t act like one. I get that you’re freaked out. But sneaking out like a coward? Really? I can’t believe you would do that.”
“I’m sorry if I didn’t wake up psyched out of my mind to have some super-awkward conversation about what happened between us. I just need a moment alone to process things.”
“All you had to do was wake me up and tell me that you needed some time to think, Naomi,” Simon says, his tone still hard and hurt. “I would have understood. But this disappearing act? I don’t do well with crap like that.”
