67. Rosalyn

SIXTY-SEVEN

ROSALYN

I'm breathing heavier than normal when I finish climbing the two flights of stairs to get to my apartment. And as I unlock my front door, I pretend it's because it's early. Or because I need to work on my cardio. Or that I'm just tired from lack of sleep.

I don't acknowledge that it has anything to do with the fact that Nathan didn't say goodbye.

The fact that he didn't say anything at all.

I shut the door behind me and turn the deadbolt.

I went into last night strongly assuming that it would be a one-night thing. So I don't know why I have this crushing sense of disappointment over that assumption being true.

Everything went exactly as I thought it would.

Liar.

I can't even think those thoughts without my subconscious calling me out.

I figured drinks might lead to sex, considering what happened in that pantry and the sexual tension I felt at the picnic.

But I hadn't counted on the conversation.

Hadn't counted on the way I felt so comfortable around him.

How sitting with our legs pressed together at the bar felt right .

And I never imagined that our sex would be… like that.

My thighs clench as I drop my purse on my kitchen counter.

I continue to my bedroom and think about everything that came after the sex.

The shower. The borrowed clothes. The cuddling. The cat. The coffee.

As soon as I reach my room, I start to strip.

It wasn't supposed to be like that.

Our night together wasn't supposed to feel so… fated.

With my clothes on the floor, I walk into my bathroom and turn on the shower.

I want nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep through my own personal little pity party.

But I can't.

Because I have work to do.

And because Nathan is now back where he belongs.

In the past.