Chapter 5 Bash
Chapter five
Bash
The numbers glow red in the dimly lit room. I blink away sleep, momentarily disoriented before everything rushes back. Charlie's apartment. Charlie's bed. Charlie.
She's curled on her side, back to me, one bare shoulder peeking above the sheets. Auburn waves cascade across the pillow, messy and perfect. My fingers itch to trace the slope of her spine, to wake her with slow kisses along the nape of her neck.
I shouldn't be thinking like this.
So why am I lying here, watching her sleep?
Something twists in my chest, unfamiliar and uncomfortable. I ease out of bed, careful not to disturb her. The floorboards creak slightly as I gather my scattered clothes, pulling them on piece by piece.
My wallet sits on the dresser, next to a small ceramic dish filled with earrings and hairpins. I grab it, then pause as something soft catches my eye. A worn grey sweatshirt haphazardly placed on the edge.
I pick it up, rubbing the fabric between my fingers. It's well-loved, with frayed cuffs and a faded logo.
I glance back at Charlie. She's shifted slightly, her face now partially visible. There's a vulnerability to her in sleep that wasn't there last night, no quick comebacks or guarded expressions. Just the gentle rise and fall of her chest, her lips slightly parted, hair tumbling across her cheek.
I should leave. That's the script, isn't it? Good time, no strings, clean exit.
Then why am I standing here, holding her sweatshirt, watching her sleep like I'm memorizing the moment?
My phone vibrates in my back pocket pulling me back to the present and the screen shows three missed texts from Ty. The newest one asking where the hell I disappeared to. I take one last look at her, place the sweatshirt back on the dresser and I slip out, easing the door closed behind me.
Outside her building, the morning air hits cold against my face. I dial Ty as I walk toward the main street.
"Well, well, well." His voice is irritatingly chipper. "My best friend lives."
"You're up early for someone who was having bottle service delivered to the table at 1 AM."
"Says the guy who disappeared with a woman he met last night. Where are you, anyway?"
I scan the street for landmarks. "Somewhere in Nob Hill, I think."
"Dude." A pause. "You spent the night? That's not exactly your M.O."
"Yeah I know. You eaten yet?"
"Just made eggs. I can throw in more if you want to swing by." There's a smirk in his voice. "Figured you might need sustenance after your...activities."
"Okay, I'm ordering an Uber."
"Sweet. Breakfast will be ready by the time you get here Casanova. And I want details."
I hang up on him, and order an Uber. Twenty minutes later, I'm climbing the stairs to Ty's second-floor walkup. The door swings open before I knock.
"You look like shit," he announces, coffee mug in hand, looking unfairly well-rested.
"Good morning to you too."
His apartment smells like coffee and hot sauce. I follow him to the kitchen, where he's got a skillet of scrambled eggs going, bacon crisping in another pan.
"So," he says, handing me a coffee mug. "You going to tell me what happened to Sebastian 'Never On The First Date' Montgomery, who suddenly needs breakfast at the butt crack of dawn?"
I take a long sip of coffee. "I needed to clear my head."
"Uh-huh." He flips the bacon. "And it has nothing to do with you sneaking out of Charlie's place?"
The coffee suddenly tastes bitter. "I didn't sneak out."
"What would you call it, then?"
"A strategic exit." I deadpan
Tyler snorts, dumping eggs onto two plates. "Right. Because that's so much better."
"It's not like that." I rub a hand over my face. "It was just..."
"Just what? A one-night stand?" He slides a plate toward me, eyebrows raised. "Since when do you do those? Even in college you were the guy who made breakfast after."
I stab at my eggs. "People change."
"Bullshit." Ty drops into the island chair next to me. "I know you, man. One-and-done isn't your style. You're the guy who dates a girl for three weeks minimum before deciding it's not going anywhere."
He's right, which is irritating. I've never been the hit-it-and-quit-it type. Not because of some moral high ground, I just prefer knowing who I'm with. Learning what makes them tick. What makes them laugh. What makes them come apart.
Like how Charlie's breath caught when I kissed that spot just below her ear. How her eyes flash when she's challenged. How she bites her lower lip when she's trying not to smile.
"Earth to Bash." Tyler waves a piece of bacon in front of my face. "You're thinking about her right now, aren't you?"
"No."
"Liar. Your face gets all..." He gestures vaguely. "Constipated when you're overthinking something."
"Thanks for that assessment."
"So what's the deal? She kick you out of bed? Terrible in the sack?" He grins at my expression. "Ah, so definitely not that last one. Interesting."
I point my fork at him. "Can we not discuss this while I'm trying to eat?"
"Fine." He takes a bite of bacon, chewing thoughtfully. "But you know I'm going to keep asking. It's weird, man. You meet this girl, disappear with her, then show up at my place the next morning looking like someone kicked your puppy."
"I don't have a puppy."
"Not the point, genius." He hands me a piece of bacon from his plate. "What happened?"
I take it and push eggs around my plate. "I don't know. There was just... something about her."
"Something?"
"Yeah." I struggle to articulate it. "She's sharp. Doesn't take any shit. But there's this softness underneath, you know? Like she's protecting something."
Tyler studies me, unusually serious. "So you slept with her... and then left without a word... because you like her too much?"
Put like that, it sounds ridiculous. But it's not entirely wrong. Charlie Whitaker is a dangerous woman—not because she's trying to be, but because she made me feel something I wasn't prepared for. Something beyond the usual attraction.
"I panicked, alright?" I admit. "She was asleep, looking all..." Beautiful. Perfect. Like someone I could wake up next to for more than just one morning. "I don't know. It felt intense."
"So you bolted." Tyler shakes his head. "Very mature."
"Says the guy whose longest relationship is with his Xbox."
"At least I'm honest about my commitment issues." He leans back in his chair. "You pretend you don't have any, then freak out the minute you feel something real."
"That's not—" I start to protest, then stop. Maybe he's right. "It was just sex, Ty."
Mind-blowing sex.
"Was it?"
I think about her laugh. The way she looked at me on the dance floor, all heat and challenge. How perfectly she fit against me. How it felt different right from the beginning.
"You really like her." It's not a question.
"I barely know her."
"Bullshit. You know her enough to know you like her."
I run a hand through my hair, frustration mounting. "Fine. Yes. I like her. And that's exactly why I left."
"That makes zero sense."
"It makes perfect sense. I was distracting her from something. I was there and convenient."
Tyler rolls his eyes. "Convenient. Right. Because women always throw themselves at strange men in bars when they're sad."
"Some do."
"Not women like her." He gets up, takes our plates to the sink. "That woman knew exactly what she was doing. And I'm betting she wasn't thinking about anything else when she was doing it."
I stare into my coffee, remembering how she'd looked at me. Not through me, not past me. At me.
"You should call her," Tyler says.
"I don't have her number."
"So get it." He turns, leaning against the counter.
"Do the old 'look up the girl in the phone book trick.
' Or find her on Facebook and send her a friend request, fuck it, stalk her TikTok or Instagram and see if she frequents any local spots and just so happen to bump into her.
And then you can apologize to her for being an asshole. "
I nearly choke on my coffee. "That's your advice? Social media stalking?"
"Got a better idea, genius?"
"I work with her."
Tyler freezes mid-dish scrub. "What?"
"I work with her. She told me she was a Marketing Project Manager."
"Hold up." He points a soapy finger at me. "You slept with someone from your new job and then ghosted her? Are you clinically insane?"
The full weight of my situation crashes down. "I didn't know we were about to be coworkers when we met."
"But you knew before you left this morning."
"I saw a Titan Marketing Group sweatshirt on her dresser before I left and put two and two together." I drop my head into my hands. "I'm so fucked."
"Monumentally." Tyler shakes his head. "First day at the new gig’s Monday, right? Better practice your 'I'm not a complete asshole' speech."
"She's going to hate me."
"Yup, she doesn't seem like the type of woman who sugarcoats shit, but maybe she'll hate you less if you show up with coffee and genuine remorse."
What was I thinking? I've spent years carefully separating my personal and professional lives. Now I've gone and slept with a woman I'll probably be working alongside every day.
A woman who, if I'm honest with myself, I doubt I’ll be able to stop thinking about.
"You know what your problem is?" He asks, as he grabs his empty coffee mug and starts rinsing it out.
"Please, enlighten me."
"You're overthinking this. You like her. So what? Maybe she likes you too."
"And maybe she doesn't. Maybe she got exactly what she wanted. One night, no strings." The thought bothers me more than it should.
"Only one way to find out." He shrugs. "But running away at dawn probably didn't help your chances."
The truth of his words sting. I don't run from things, not challenges, not fears, not difficult situations. Except, apparently I do run from hazel eyes and messy waves and the possibility of something that matters.
"I really messed this up, didn't I?"
Tyler's expression softens. "Maybe. Maybe not. But you won't know until you talk to her."
Monday. I have until Monday to figure out what the hell I'm going to say to her when I see her again.