11. Claire
11
Claire
The Morning After
Ugh! Hangovers suck!
As my eyes flutter open, I immediately regret every delicious sip of beer from last night.
My head feels like a watermelon that's been dropped from a ten-story building, and the inside of my mouth tastes like a sandcastle baking in the desert sun.
I squint to adjust to the morning brightness. How did I get in here last night? The previous memory in my mind is laughing at the stars with Bobby as we dump can after can of beer down our throats. And Fiona looking at us with what I imagine to be envy since Danny and her barely even cuddled, held hands, or spoke.
Is Bobby hungover, too? I sit up gently, groaning as I stretch. The sheets slide down my torso, revealing that I'm only in my bra and panties.
What the…? How did I get like this?
My mind frantically searches for the missing pieces of last night, but all I can dredge up are blurry snippets–laughter, the warmth of the fire, the star-dusted canvas of the night sky, and hugs…lots of flirty hugs.
My clothes are scattered on the floor like colorful confetti. There’s another set of clothes that definitely aren't mine–a pair of worn jeans and a familiar-looking blue round-neck t-shirt. I blink and as my vision clears, panic seizes my throat in a vise-like grip.
Bobby! No way!
My eyes dart towards the other side of the bed…and yes, he’s there by my side — sprawled out, the sheets tangling around his waist giving me a sumptuous view of his bare chest with the morning light highlighting his impeccable pecs and abs of steel.
I nearly choke on the lump in my throat.
Did something happen? Did we….?
I let out a shocked shriek, my hand clamping over my mouth too late to stop the sharp, panicked sound from ripping through the air.
Bobby stirs and his eyes slowly peer open. He looks around in confusion. "Claire? What's wrong?"
His voice is still thick with sleep, and the fact that it sends delicious tingles down my neck doesn’t assure me that nothing has happened between us.
My heart’s pounding like a drummer nailing his final solo. “Did something happen last night?"
He sits up, his brow furrowed as he looks around the room again. "We…we were talking, under the tree," he starts, then trails off, his eyes landing on the discarded clothes. Understanding dawns on his face, and he lets out a low whistle.
My stomach flips. “And?”
His eyes widen significantly. "Uh… well, I…" He hesitates, a strange look flickering across his face. "The last thing I remember is coming up the stairs. We were the last ones, and you…you almost slipped."
My breath catches in my throat. Slipped?
"And then?" I press, fear tightening its grip around my heart.
"And then I caught you," he continues, cheeks flushing slightly red. He takes a deep breath, his face ambiguous. "You…you kissed me. Held onto me all the way to the door."
My mind starts racing. Did he just imply that I threw myself at him like I’m desperate?
“And after we make our way in?”
“Nothing happened.”
I don’t believe him. I stare at the clothes on the floor. Images flash before my eyes — clinging to Bobby, my hands roaming his chest as I mumble nonsensical words. Then, the thought of his clothes coming off, the heat of his skin against mine...
Bobby clears his throat and scratches his head. “I think we were hot, so we stripped and went to bed.”
I want so badly to believe him, but it’s just like him to pretend nothing happened to help me save face. I grab the first piece of clothing I can see and throw it on, frantically covering every inch of exposed skin before climbing off the bed.
"Claire?" Bobby's voice calls out, concern lacing his tone.
“I need to hop in the shower.” My head is spinning with a mixture of confusion, shame, and a strange, unsettling fear. With a shaking hand, I reach for the bathroom door and slam it shut, leaning against the cold wood as I suck in a shaky breath.
How could I let this happen? I promised myself I’d keep my feelings for him under control. But then, the first thing I do is jump him. What else did we do last night? I’m not sure I’m ready to hear it or face it.
I pull off the shirt and step under the shower. The water is so cold it stings my skin, but it does little to quell the embarrassment raging inside me. I scrub myself clean, trying desperately to wash away last night. I can’t even remember what I’m trying to wash away and that makes things more difficult.
When I finish, I crack open the bathroom door and peek out to scan the room. Empty. Bobby must have walked out while I was bathing. Good, because there’s no way I’m walking into that room with him in there.
The way he looks at me, that trace of something in his eyes. It sets me on fire inside, and I should have been wise enough not to let booze cloud my sense of judgment when it’s already so difficult to resist him sober.
I step out, dripping, wondering what Bobby thinks of me now. Should I have let him finish telling me what happened after the kiss? Whatever it was, with our clothes discarded, it probably wouldn't have been pleasant and I would prefer to pretend it didn’t happen—that I didn’t ruin a perfectly good friendship by demanding sex.
Standing there, wrapped in the damp towel, I search my mind, replaying snippets of the night for any sign of what happened. It’s all a hazy mess in there.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes are bloodshot, my hair a tangled mess. And there’s that look of vulnerability etched on my face that throws me off.
Get a grip, girl.
I take a deep breath. Go back to being the Claire who has everything under control. This is a fake relationship—don’t ruin a good thing by wanting too much, no matter how much the lines have been blurred lately.
I pull on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and emerge from the bedroom to see Bobby in the living area. He glances up when I enter, a smile spreading across his face.
“There you are," he says, tossing me a banana. "This helps with the hangover."
“Thanks.” I grab it mid-air and start peeling back the yellow skin. As I put it between my lips, my heart sinks.
OMG. Did I do this yesterday?
I immediately remove the fruit from my lips and toss it away.
Bobby raises his eyebrows. "You alright over there?"
Looking at him, I realize that somehow, his familiar features–the dark brown hair, the dreamy blue eyes that always seem to see right through me–hold a new power. An unsettling power that gives me goosebumps.
"Actually," I manage, my voice barely above a whisper. "I think a run will clear my head better than a banana. Fresh air and all that good stuff."
Ugh. The lies. I just might pass out from this pounding headache.
"What about Mimi’s shindig?" he asks, his brows furrowing slightly.
“Missing it for one day won’t bring the world down. Might even make some people happy.”
Before he can press any further, I blurt out, "See you later."
With that, I practically sprint out of the room, slamming the door behind me. The cool Dallas air hits me and I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the crisp morning air. It does little to quash the turmoil churning inside me, but at least I’m a few feet away from Bobby and I feel like I can breathe easier.
All of this is so confusing. We went from being best friends, to a fake relationship, to developing real feelings, to wishing this charade could be real. Something might have actually happened last night beyond the already bewildering, passionate kisses, and now I’m avoiding him altogether.
We’ve always known about each other’s dating fiascos. And now, we’re each other’s dating fiasco? Maybe it's the Texas heat, maybe it's the intensity of our pretense over the last couple of weeks, but this comfortable familiarity I share with him has taken on a new edge and I’ve fallen headfirst into it.
What actually happened last night doesn’t matter as much as the fact that I wish we actually made love. And that scares me. Even though I can see that these feelings will ruin something good between us—awkwardness at best, a complete and utter breakdown of our friendship at worst—I still can’t hide the terrifying truth, that a part of me… a traitorous part… aches for something more.
I quicken my pace, my legs carrying me further and further away from the mansion. I need space, time to think, to untangle the jumble of emotions swirling inside me. I need to put some distance between us today to regain control, or else I’m going to lose myself.
***
Later that evening, I walk up to a bar beside my brother Mike. The neon sign above the place pulsates the words "Rusty Spur" erratically. I’ve done practically everything to avoid Bobby today, including the crazy idea of asking Mike to show me the town.
And as expected, his course leads to this not exactly quaint local pub. The place looks more like where fights break out over spilled beer and pool hustlers sharpen their skills.
“Why are we here?”
"Because this is the most important landmark in town," Mike announces with a flourish, dragging me through the creaking saloon doors.
The place is buzzing. A group of rowdy men bellow at the television playing an old Western movie, the air thick with the smell of stale beer and something vaguely greasy. Women in tight jeans and low-cut tops sashay around, their laughter bouncing off the exposed brick walls. The head of a mounted deer head stares down at us with glassy eyes.
"Maybe we should find somewhere else—"
“Don’t be snobbish, Sis,” Mike cuts me off, already weaving his way through the crowd. "This place serves the best beer. You wanted me to keep you company all afternoon and show you around. Here’s for an Authentic Texas experience!" He flashes his usual dazzling smile and shrugs.
I should have known better than to ask him, but Gavin and Richard are working on the ranch today and he’s my only excuse. He finds a small table tucked into a corner, surprisingly clean amidst the general chaos. I perch myself on the edge, suddenly wishing I'd insisted on a coffee shop instead.
"Just bear with it for a bit," Mike winks, disappearing into the crowd towards the bar.
I half expect him to return with a saddle and a mechanical bull. Knowing Mike, his idea of an 'Authentic Texas Experience' probably involves line dancing, bull riding, and possibly wrangling a rattlesnake. I make a mental note to check my travel insurance.
I shrug off my coat, tossing it onto the back of the chair. Avoiding Bobby all day hasn’t been exactly easy. I miss him—at least the part of me that desperately wishes something had happened between us last night and that it was something to remember. To subdue that part, maybe I should get some kind of distraction, anything to get him out of my head for a bit.
Harmless flirting seems to work for me whenever I’m too fixated on my exes. Can I find any interesting man here? I stare at a group of men at the following table. One of them, a young guy with a carefully styled quiff catches my gaze and flashes a mischievous grin.
My hand twitches towards my cheek to give him a playful smile.
But then I see his eyes–clear blue like the ocean. My heart slams against my ribs, the planned flirtation dying out instantly. Blue eyes. That's the last thing I need right now. It feels like a ridiculous thing to get hung up on, but it’s the truth. Because blue eyes aren't just blue eyes. They're Bobby’s blue eyes, the ones that crinkle at the corners when he smiles, the ones that had held a mixture of concern and…something else I couldn't quite decipher this morning.
Shoot! How could a complete stranger quickly remind me of him?
The realization is sobering. It isn't just a fleeting attraction, a momentary lapse in judgment. I want him. The thought sends a shiver down my neck, a mix of fear and exhilaration simultaneously.
Mike reappears, balancing two overflowing beer mugs and a plate piled high with golden fries. He sets them down on the table with a satisfied grunt.
"There you go, Sis. The best brew in Dallas, and their chicken and fries are legendary!"
I stare blankly at the food, my stomach churning.
"Mike," I whisper. “Do you ever have thoughts you can't control? Like, urges you know are bad, but they just won't shut up?"
He raises an eyebrow, setting down his beer mug with a soft thud. "Depends on the urge, Claire. Craving pizza at three in the morning? Totally relatable. But if you're talking about something more…destructive…" he trails off, his gaze meeting mine with a curious intensity.
"So, what do you do about it?" Desperation creeps into my voice.
Mike shrugs. "Depends on the situation. Sometimes you gotta ride it out and let the storm pass. Other times…well, sometimes you gotta talk about it."
“Right. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He winks, then takes another swig of his beer. “You’re being unusually nice.”
I smile and then I take a deep breath, trying to clear the fog clouding my mind. “Am I?”
“You know you can talk to me, whatever this is about?”
I wish it was that simple, but the secret of Bobby and I not actually being a couple can’t see the light of day. The other truth stares me in the face. No amount of flirting or distractions will erase it. I'm hopelessly, undeniably attracted to him. And until I figure out what that means for me and for us, I'll be stuck in this agonizing state of limbo.
I look up and smile at Mike. “Maybe someday.”
He doesn't argue, simply points to the food. “Now dig in. The chicken’s getting cold.”
I nod and reach toward my mug and the chicken. One thing is clear–I need to find a way to face Bobby, face the truth, and face whatever the future holds for our new friendship, but I need to do it at the right time.