3. 3
Annabelle
Then
I ’ve spent my entire adult life living up to the traditional Stepford wife image, so my wanton sexual display should embarrass me, but it doesn’t. The payoff—orgasms, multiple orgasms —was well worth the potential embarrassment.
Wrapping the polyester comforter around my chest, I recline against the motel’s old rattan headboard. Dazed, I mutter breathily, “Is it always… like this for you?”
Shooting me a charming, crooked grin, with mischief in his eyes, Hayes teases, “It’s okay, Annabelle. You can just admit I’m the best you’ve ever had.”
Both the best and the biggest , I think. Though I won't tell him that.
Grabbing a pillow from behind me, I swat him and laugh. “You’re not just an asshole. You’re a cocky asshole, Hayes.”
“Only cocky if it’s not true, Yankee.” He winks. “Come here.” Hayes tugs the comforter down, getting rid of the fabric barricade between us. Hayes settles me into his chest, wrapping his arm around me.
Hot sex and cuddles? Sign me up.
We lie in silence before Hayes murmurs, “Your eyes remind me of sunflowers. Anyone ever tell you that before?”
I shake my head. Sunflowers. I like the comparison. It sounds romantic.
My eyes focus on a line of script that wraps around his ribcage. I read the tattoo aloud. "'The road goes on forever…' is that from a poem?"
"Sort of. It's from an old country song by Robert Earl Keene. 'The road goes on forever and the party never ends.'"
I smile. Yep, based on what little I know of Hayes that seems fitting. "What's this one for?" I ask, my fingertips tracing over the tattoo of a Chinese symbol he has on the inside of his upper arm.
"Lost a bet."
I smile. "What's it say?"
"Damned if I know. My buddy randomly picked it out of a tattoo artist's portfolio. For all I know, it could say penis."
My smile grows as my fingers move to the tiny constellation of stars he has on his chest. "What about these? What are they for? Another lost bet?"
"Nah, those are for my mom."
He tightens his arm around me. "I noticed you don't have any tattoos. Not a fan? "
I shake my head as a yawn escapes my mouth. "It's not that I'm not a fan. I just haven't ever found anything important enough to memorialize on my body."
Hearing my yawn, Hayes snaps off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness. Lazily, I scratch my fingernails up and down his muscular arms and chest as I revel in the blissful feeling of his bare skin against my own.
“That feels good,” he murmurs, lightly kissing my temple. “Relaxing.”
I murmur my agreement. Everything between us feels so easy and relaxing.
But it doesn’t feel like I imagined a one-night stand would. This isn’t some wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am experience and that unsettles me.
To escape that thought, I ask another question, “You play?”
“Play?”
I gesture toward a battered guitar case in the motel room’s far corner. “Guitar. Do you play the guitar?” I specify. "Is that one of your hobbies?"
He nods, “Yeah.”
“Any good?”
“Pretty good.”
“Hmm, no cockiness in that response, so you must not be that good."
He laughs.
I feel brave in the darkened room, so I ask in a whisper, “Did you think about her at all tonight? You know, when we…”
His answer comes quickly. “No, Annabelle. My mind was fully on you. Only you.”
“Good.” I don’t have any right to feel jealous, but I do when I think about Hayes with his ex. Maybe jealous isn’t the right word. It’s more like… envy. I'm envious because she had a year with Hayes, and I only have a night.
“What about you? Did you think about him? Was this your first time since…”
“It was, but no, I didn’t think about him either.” At least not while Hayes and I were having sex.
But now, my mind delves into my past with Kyle and the sorry state of our marriage.
A surprising twinge of disloyalty runs through me.
Kyle was unfaithful, yet I still feel a flicker of guilt for sleeping with Hayes.
After a decade with the same man, I guess it’s normal to feel conflicted the first time you sleep with someone new.
Too bad Kyle didn’t feel the same guilt I do.
Breaking me out of my doldrums, Hayes clears his throat. “I know we’re doing this out of order, but I’m clean. We used condoms, and I haven’t slept with anyone else since I was last tested.” He pauses. “I just didn’t want you to worry since you don’t seem the type to have one-night stands often.”
Chuckling, I add, “Or ever.”
“Seriously? Not even in high school or college?” The amazement in his voice amuses me.
“Seriously. I’ve only slept with two people.
” I let my comment hang as Hayes quickly deduces that he is only the second man I’ve had sex with.
Before the silence becomes too awkward, I remark, “I’m wondering about your timeline, though.
You just broke up with your girlfriend today.
So, what? Did you get tested in the last few hours? ”
“Last month, actually. Insurance required a new physical.” He pushes a wayward curl off his forehead and blows out a slow breath. “ My ex and I hadn’t had sex in a long time, which is one of the many reasons I broke up with her. We were friends masquerading as lovers.”
Shifting my weight onto my elbow, I glance up at Hayes. I understand his comment far better than I wish I did.
“I feel bad about breaking up with her. Not because I want to be with her, but because I hate hurting her.”
“You did the right thing, Hayes. Believe me, the longer you allowed the relationship to continue past its expiration date, the worse the hurt is.”
Lifting an eyebrow, he studies me. “Speaking from experience?”
“Something like that.” I duck my head before settling back down on his chest. I’m grateful that he doesn’t pry or ask for more details than what I sparse out.
“You’re easy to talk to, Annabelle.”
“Maybe it’s easier for us to open up because we’re strangers, so our opinions of each other don’t matter.” But I’m lying because Hayes’ opinion of me matters more than it should. “I’ve never had sex outside of a relationship before. I know it should feel weird or uncomfortable, but it doesn’t.”
“No, it doesn’t feel weird.” Hayes pauses, eventually adding in a soft voice, “It feels right.”
Funny how something that should feel wrong can feel so incredibly right.
“Have you ever felt like this before? Like you knew someone better than you do?” He exhales loudly while I remain silent. “Or is just me?” He peers down at me.
It isn’t just him.
“I feel it too.” The atmosphere in the small motel room feels claustrophobic. Charged and full of… something I can’t quite put my finger on. Elation? Uncertainty? Anticipation, maybe ?
But there’s nothing more to experience or anticipate with Hayes because we have no future. Whatever attachment I feel for him is pointless because nothing more can come of it. There are no new memories to make together.
I’m grateful when Hayes interrupts my depressing line of thought with a random question.
“How did a girl from New York get such a Southern-sounding name?”
“My mom is a big snob and loves the British socialite scene, so she named me after Annabel Astor. What about you? How’d you get the name Hayes?”
“It’s a family name.”
As we continue talking in the still darkness, Hayes runs his fingers through my hair, from root to end. His touch is comforting. After months of taking care of my daughters, having someone dote on me feels like a luxury.
I tuck my head underneath his chin, and with every one of his exhalations, some of my hairs flutter, tickling my cheek. The rhythmic sounds of his heart and the warmth of his body pressed against mine eventually lull me to sleep.
For the first time in months, I don’t suffer from nighttime anxiety. Instead of waking up with music running through my head, music plays in my dreams.
Now that the effects of last night’s alcohol have worn off, I spiral, my mind racing from the very moment I awaken. Everything I drank to forget comes rushing to the forefront of my brain. My broken marriage, my brokenhearted kids, and my broken-down car.
I have to deal with all that and a hangover from hell.
My mouth, so dry it hurts to swallow, feels like it’s filled with cotton, and I have a raging headache pulsating between my eyes.
If I don’t move, my head doesn’t hurt as badly, so I remain motionless.
It’s still dark outside, and the soft breathing noises coming from the body lying next to me inform me that Hayes is still asleep.
Hayes.
Somewhere between dusk and dawn—amid tangled sheets and whispered confessions—something powerful unfurled between us.
I can’t stop these intense, albeit irrational, feelings because they’re just there .
Impossible to ignore, my feelings for Hayes leave me on edge.
I’ve never felt this kind of magnetic pull to another person, not even to Kyle, and that terrifies me.
Hayes has the power to wreck me, to blow up the life I’ve spent the past few months carefully rebuilding. I can’t take that kind of risk. Kyle’s betrayal shattered my heart and left my life in pieces. I’m not sure I could survive that kind of heartbreak again.
I feel Hayes’ chest pressed to my back, his arm wrapped around me, molding me to his solid, muscular frame. Last night, it felt glorious. This morning, it feels like manacles, holding me down, locking me into place.
My marriage ended only months ago. My life is still in shambles. I can’t waste even a second contemplating starting something new, especially not with a one-night stand who ended his relationship yesterday.
Nope. Ridiculous. Not happening.
Seventy percent of rebound relationships fail within the first three months, and ninety percent? They fail within six months. And that is exactly what this would be for both of us—a rebound destined for failure.
The urge to escape becomes unbearable.
I roll away and sit on the bed’s edge. The pounding in my head feels like a stampede of horses running across my brain, making it difficult to think.