The Two-Night One-Night Stand (19 page)

“No, I don’t believe I heard that story.” His mother rests an elbow on the table and cups her chin. “Go on.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t.” Am I saying too much? Did they not know about Jeremy? They knew about our indiscretion; why wouldn’t they know about that one? Wait? Did I just say mind-blowing sex in front of his mom?

“You can’t stop now. You obviously have things you want to say, by all means, keep going.”

I guess she’s right. There are still some things I need to say. I can’t stop now.

“Well, like I said we had been drinking and it was snowing and I somehow wound up at Matthew’s apartment. But we didn’t have sex,” I say, starting off strong, but then the strength in my voice dwindles. “Not at first. He said some things. I got sick. It was a mess. A mess he cleaned up.” I shudder. “Then the next day we were trapped ’cause of the snow. Remember that big storm before Thanksgiving? Well we were stuck inside and spent the day together.” I push the hair out of my face and smile down at my feet. “It was a really good day. He’s so smart. And funny. And like the sweetest, most amazing guy I know.”

“Is that when you had sex again?” the blonde asks, and the other two women swivel their heads with a gasp. The dark-haired woman reaches over to nudge her. “What?” she asks. “It’s not like I’m asking for details.” She turns to me, cups a hand to her mouth, and whisper-shouts, “But if you want to give some that’s fine.”

“I think the only detail you really need to know is that I like him. And yes, we may have had a weird start, a one-night stand, but when we talked before, the way I feel about him, the way I like him, he seems to feel the same way. He says he wants to date me, see where this goes. And I know I certainly want that too. So in a way doesn’t that undo the whole one-night stigma? If we date, it’ll no longer be just one night or even two nights. That is, if he ever wants to see me again after this whole fiasco.” I will them not to, but my stupid eyes fill with tears anyway.

The faces in front of me soften, not as evil as they appeared just moments ago. I even pick up a trace of a smile from his mother. “I think he wants to see you again.”

“Really?” I suck in my bottom lip and chew nervously. My finger swipes up and catches an escaped tear before it rolls down my cheek. “And you’re all okay with that?”

His mother gives me a nod. “I hope to see you again soon, Holly. And I have a feeling we will.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” She smiles. “Now I think it’s time you go home. You never know what might be waiting for you there.”

Waiting for me there? Does that mean Matthew is at my apartment? Did he go after me?
Swoon.
My heart cartwheels as I grip my keys, anxious to get back home and see if he’s there.

“Oh wait, Holly, before you go.” The blonde stops me. “If the girls ever ask, ‘a one-night stamp’ is something they do to your hand when you go to a dance club.” She gives me a wink.

My face heats up. I’m not sure what the future holds for me and Matthew, but one day soon, I hope this is a story I’ll find myself able to laugh at with these women.

Wouldn’t that be crazy?

I CLUTCH THE bag of Chinese food and knock at her door. The sound of heavy footsteps approaching has my stomach in knots. I’m hoping this food is enough of a ticket for her to at least hear me out. What happened back at the restaurant was a nightmare, but in a family that size there is always some type of drama going on. My plan is to go with some type of initiation theory, welcoming her in with a big dose of crazy. Stupid, I know, but it’s the best I got right now.

The door opens and my eyes narrow at the man in front of me. I take a step back and double check that I’m at the right apartment. I am. Who the hell is this?

“Can I help you?” The man, dressed in a three-piece suit, sneers at me. He adjusts his fancy cuffs adorned with golden links.

“Is this Holly Martin’s apartment?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Is she home?”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” The man eyes me cautiously, stopping at the bag in my hand. “Oh, she ordered food. It figures.” He rolls his eyes. “Typical Holly to order food and then not even be here when it comes. The girl is as flighty as they come, but if you could see her ass you’d know why I’m willing to put up with it.” He snorts at his crude joke. “How much do I owe you?”

I don’t know who this is or what he’s doing here, I just know I despise him. “The delivery is for Holly. I’ll come back later and give it to her.”

“No, give it to me. I’m her boyfriend, it’s fine.”

“Her boyfriend?” I nearly choke on the words.

“Yes, her boyfriend,” he says squarely, with an air of suspicion. “Now, how much do I owe you?”

I look down at the bag gripped firmly in my fist. “Um, one hundred dollars,” I say, just to be a dickhead.

“One hundred? Is it sushi?” he asks, reaching for his wallet.

“I don’t know what it is.”

He hands me a hundred-dollar bill and even tips me a twenty. I’m at a loss and turn to walk away.

“Excuse me. The food,” he yells out, and points to the bag still gripped in my hand.

I hand over the bag to Holly’s
boyfriend
. Something’s not right here. “What’s your name?” I ask.

“Why do you need to know?”

“Just want to know who to thank for the generous tip.”

He gives a cocky grin. “Tyler Cates.”

Tyler. Her ex. I pocket his money and walk away without giving that thank-you. He mumbles under his breath and slams the door.

I stomp down the stairs. What the hell is going on? Why was there no mention of him before? Especially if he was at her home? And where is Holly? Shouldn’t she be home by now?

This just doesn’t add up.

The heat in my car flows out at the highest setting. I sink back, slamming my head against the headrest, and stare up at her building. What’s my next move? Do I go home? Sit here and wait for her to return? Chase her up to her apartment and confront her about the boyfriend who just answered her door? Should I fight for her? Puff up and knock out the jackass in the three-piece suit in hopes she’ll leave him and choose me? Being the youngest of three boys, I do know how to hold my own and that bitch doesn’t look like he could hold anything more than a fat wallet.

I white-knuckle the steering wheel. Holly is making me crazy. Only an hour ago it all seemed like it was gonna finally come together for us. An end to the craziness and a beginning of something great. Little did I know that I’d soon be up against an interfering mom, blabbermouth nieces, and returning exes.

I knock my head down into the steering wheel. Goddamn, this night could not get any worse if it tried.

My phone chimes, an incoming text distracting me from the madness inside my head. Before I even look, a second chime comes in, then a third and a fourth. I swipe in my passcode and read the texts.

Ashley:
Who’s Jeremy?

Robin:
Just wondering—do you work with a guy named Jeremy?

Kent:
Why the fuck are you kissing some dude named Jeremy?

Patrick:
Heads up. We all know about Jeremy.

OUTSIDE, AN OFFICER stands by my car, pad in hand, scribbling away.

“Wait! Stop!” I break into a run.

“Is this your car, miss?”

“Yes, but I was only there for a minute. I can explain.” The officer lifts his head for the explanation I can’t give. “I’m sorry. I’ll never do it again.”

“Do you know the fine for an unauthorized vehicle in a handicapped parking spot is two hundred and fifty dollars?”

“Two hundred and fifty?” I gulp.

“Yup, two-fifty. Expensive lesson,” he says, tearing off the ticket and placing it in my hand. “Learn from it.”

“I have,” I grumble, getting into my car and tossing the ticket onto the passenger seat. Very stupid mistake, but hopefully in the end this will all be worth it. And it will be. After everything I’ve been through tonight, I’m determined to make sure we get it right this time.

Even if it kills us.

It’s a conscious effort not to speed all the way home. I can’t make another expensive mistake. But damn, I just want to get home as fast as humanly possible to see if he’s there. He has to be. Why would his mom say something like that if he wasn’t? And this time when I see him, it’s going to all fall into place.

It seems like forever before I reach my apartment and park, tugging open the door handle.

Wait.

I freeze, one leg dangling over the pavement. Say it does go right and everything does fall into place. What then? Sex or no sex? I snap my leg back in and close the door. What’s the protocol for a situation like this?

If we have sex, then maybe I’m just setting us up to go from a one-night stand to a booty call. I can’t do that. But on the other hand, if we don’t have sex, what message does that send? That I’m a game-playing tease? We’ve had sex. Amazing sex. Why would I hold back now? Ugh. Before I go up there, I need answers.

WWJD?

What would Jayne do?

There’s no time to call her now. It doesn’t matter. I close my eyes and hear her voice in my head.

“Bonk his fucking brains out, Holly!”

Excellent advice. Thanks, Jayne.

I have no patience for the elevator and take the stairs two at a time up to my apartment, anxious to see my knight in shining armor, have our happy ending, and let the bonking commence.

The doors to the elevator part to an empty hallway. He’s not here. I search from one end of the hall to the other. Did he leave? Was he even here at all? Did I misunderstand his mother’s words? My palm smashes up against my chest to try and dull the ache inside. I’d just been so sure.

The sound of violins permeates through the hall. It’s close. Where is that coming from? It almost sounds like it’s coming from my apartment. I press my ear against my door, and the intense rock of the Trans-Siberian orchestra blares on the other side. I jump back in horror. Someone’s in my apartment.

I know it’s not Matthew. It can’t be, not unless he broke in, and there’s no sign of forced entry. Maybe I left the music on? Carefully, I reach down to my doorknob and try turning. It’s unlocked. Okay, I know I didn’t leave my door unlocked. I’m always super careful about that. Do I call the cops? Tell them I think I’m being robbed by festive thieves listening to lively holiday music? I keep turning and bravely crack my door open for a peek. Nothing seems out of place, so I open the door further. Tyler? What the hell? He sits on my couch with a glass of wine in his right hand, conducting the orchestra with his left.