More Than One Night

She mouthed a four-letter word. She looked terrible.

Really, really terrible. Without Gina’s clever makeup and saucy clothes, she was reduced to plain old Charlie—emphasis on the plain—and any minute now, the perfect god sprawled across the bed in the next room was going to wake up and she was going to have to watch the disappointment register on his face as he figured out who he’d really come home with last night.

She couldn’t do it.

Didn’t want to do it.

Last night had been one of the headiest experiences of her life. She’d felt sexy and confident and desired and bold. She didn’t want that memory tainted with the cold reality of today.

And she definitely didn’t want to hang around while Rhys said all the right things while ushering her toward the exit. The very thought made her stomach roll with nausea.

She moved to the door and opened it a crack. Rhys was still sleeping.

Thank. God.

She pushed the door open only enough to slip into the bedroom. Then she crouched down and started collecting her clothes.

She found her panties all rolled up in the corner, a darker shadow on the graphite-gray carpet. The mesh top was near the door, her satin pants at the foot of the bed, her purse next to the nightstand. For the life of her, she couldn’t find Gina’s stilettos, and she scurried around the bedroom on tiptoe, the bundle of clothes pressed to her chest as she searched for them. She was about to admit defeat when Rhys stirred. She froze in a half crouch, naked and utterly exposed, eyes riveted to his prone form.

Please, please, please, please, don’t wake up. Don’t wake up. Don’t wake up. Don’t wake up.

He frowned, his mouth working. Then he pushed at the pillow before rolling onto his other side, his back to her.

She remained frozen for long seconds after he’d stopped moving, keen to ensure he really was still asleep. When his breathing evened out, her shoulders dropped with relief.

She turned toward the door and nearly stumbled over Gina’s shoes. Scooping them up, she stepped into the hallway and pulled the bedroom door shut behind her. She walked briskly into the living room and dropped her clothes onto a seen-better-days leather couch. Grabbing her panties from amongst the pile, she pulled them on, then reached for the trousers. Predictably, they fought her every inch of the way as she dragged them up her legs. She was almost sobbing with frustration by the time she’d yanked them over her hips, and she had to lie on the floor to get the fly zipped. She tugged the mesh halter over her head, grabbed her handbag and the shoes, and headed for the door.

She had her hand on the knob, ready to make her escape, when she remembered Rhys’s ruined shirt. Grinding her teeth at her own stupid conscience, she went back into the living room. A quick scan of the messy space located a memo pad by the phone. By some miracle a pen rested beside it and she scribbled a quick note.

Thanks for last night. I had a great time. Sorry about your shirt, and good luck with everything. Charlie

She reread it, displeased with the overly effusive tone. She tore the note free and crumbled it into a ball, stuffing it into her purse. She tried again but stalled halfway.

For God’s sake, what is wrong with you? You’re never going to see this man again. Write the note and get the hell out of here.

She scrawled a quick note. Then she pulled two fifty-dollar bills from her purse and left them and her missive on the coffee table. She had no idea how much a shirt cost these days, but if she gave him any more she wouldn’t have the taxi fare to get home. It would have to do.

Mission completed, she bolted for the door. Only when she was on the street, walking away from his building, did she allow herself to breathe easily.

It was cool this early in the morning and her wet hair didn’t help any. She leaned against a tree for balance while she tugged on her shoes, then wrapped her arms around herself as she walked slowly up the hill toward what looked like a coffee shop.

A woman walking her dog gave her a disdainful head to toe as they crossed paths. Charlie ducked her head and reached into her handbag for her phone. She dialed for a cab, only then realizing that she had no idea where she was. She asked the operator to wait while she walked to the nearest corner and found a street sign. Twenty minutes later she was in the back of a taxi that smelled of stale vomit and cigarette smoke, heading for Gina’s house in Balmain.

She felt as though she’d scaled Mount Everest by the time she paid the driver and climbed the two steps to Gina’s front door. Last night she’d had the good sense to take the key Gina had given her and she let herself in. Slipping her shoes off, she made her way to her room.

“Hey.”

She glanced over her shoulder to see Gina standing in her bedroom doorway wearing a pair of shorty pajamas, knuckling her eyes blearily.

“Sorry. Did I wake you? I tried to be quiet,” Charlie said.

“No worries. You okay?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

“Okay. Good. See you in the morning, then.”

“I hate to break it to you, but it’s morning already,” Charlie said, amused despite herself by her friend’s muzzy-headedness.

“See you in the afternoon, then. I plan on sleeping through my hangover so I don’t have to actually live through it.”

Waving goodbye, Gina shuffled into her room. Charlie shed her clothes and grabbed her towel, then went straight to the bathroom. Stepping beneath the shower, she leaned against the tiled wall and bowed her head, simply letting the water roll over her. After long minutes she stirred and soaped herself down. She felt infinitely better by the time she toweled herself dry.

Returning to her room, she dressed in the pajamas she’d purchased yesterday and pulled her laptop from her carry-on. Her eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep but her head was whirling and she knew herself well enough to know sleep was out of the question. She opened up the folder for her first client, a boutique stationery business that had been set up by a former comrade in arms, and spent the next three hours refining her design concepts and building a template for the landing page.

She heard Gina stir at a certain point, and at midday there was a tap at her door.

“You awake?” Gina asked quietly.

“Yep.”

“Good.”

The door swung open to reveal Gina with a tray bearing two tall glasses of orange juice and a big pile of buttered toast with Vegemite. Her friend had wet hair from the shower and was wearing a pair of cotton pants and a tank top.

“Oh, hey, thanks,” Charlie said, touched by the thoughtfulness. She put her laptop to one side.

Gina set the tray in the middle of the bed, sitting cross-legged on the other side. “So?” she asked as she reached for the first piece of toast.

“So what?”

“So, did you have a good time? Is he going to call? Are you going to call him?”

Charlie shifted uncomfortably. This being her first one-night stand and therefore her first morning-after debrief, she wasn’t sure what the protocol was. She didn’t want to offend Gina by telling her to butt out, but she wasn’t about to spill the intimate details of what she’d shared with Rhys, either. It may have been a one-off, it may mean nothing in the larger scheme of her life, but right now it felt far too immediate and fresh for her to share with anyone else.

“It’s okay, I don’t want gory details,” Gina said, apparently reading her reluctance. “Just tell me if he passed the I-want-to-see-him-again test.”

“I’m not seeing him again,” Charlie said firmly.

Gina pulled a face. “Really? That bad, huh? And he looked so promising. Don’t tell me he was one of those good-looking guys who figures that all he has to do is lie there and be gorgeous and he’s done his bit?”

The need to correct Gina’s misinterpretation overrode Charlie’s natural modesty. “He didn’t just lie there. That part was… fine. But I realized this morning that there was no future in it, so I left.”

Gina paused, a piece of toast halfway to her mouth. “The bastard. What did he say?”

“He didn’t say anything. He was sleeping and I figured that I should probably get out of there before he woke up. So I did.” She shrugged as nonchalantly as she could as she reached for a piece of toast.

“Wha-huh? You left before he woke up? Am I getting this straight?”