Chapter 12
Charlotte startles awake because of a sound she can’t quite place yet.
She needs a second to remember where she is. Another to realize she’s not the only one in her bed, and one more to remember why.
She glances at the woman beside her; on her stomach, arms tucked in, more than half of the bed sheet clutched, legs sprawled out, one of them crossing Charlotte’s legs even.
Her face is pressed into the pillow in such a way it stretches her nose up, causing her mouth to hang open about half an inch.
The softest of snores sound from her open mouth every few seconds.
It’s absolutely ridiculous and Charlotte can’t help but smile at the sight. Riley probably needs her rest.
They couldn’t have been asleep for more than a few hours. Charlotte knows this because at some point during the night—or morning—the first rays of daylight had come in through the curtains. By that time, Charlotte had already lost count on how many times they had made each other come.
There had been the occasional water, toilet, and oxygen breaks.
At least once every hour one of them remarked how ridiculous it was that they were still awake, and how they should probably go to sleep—which the other then would agree to, after “just one more”.
But every time one of them finished, the other had been helplessly horny again.
During one of their breaks, Charlotte had looked at the time—it had been a few minutes after five in the morning—and had admitted that Riley might’ve been right about first sessions lasting 8 hours after all.
Charlotte wonders if they ever would have stopped if they hadn’t needed to sleep, or if they’d been at least fifteen years younger.
Letting her eyes roam over Riley’s very naked back, she already knows the answer as her body responds to the sight in front of her as well as the memories from the night before.
Sure, they had both gotten sore at some point, but even that was something Riley had shown her how to handle. The night hadn’t just been endlessly sexy and fun, but also quite educational as Charlotte now knows about at least six more erogenous zones than she thought she had.
She vaguely understands now why people used to burn down entire villages for sex, but she also wonders how any lesbian gets anything done in their life, ever. Would it always be like this?
With a self-judging grumble she reaches out to touch Riley’s back when she hears a knock on the door. The second one in a minute, she realizes; the first one having woken her up initially.
“Charlotte?!”
Gabi. Fuck.
She scrambles out of bed, frantically looking for her hotel robe; under the bed, by the vanity… but she can’t find it anywhere.
“Charlotte! I know you’re in there.”
“Yeah, yeah. Patience, woman,” Charlotte mutters under her breath, giving up her search for the robe and settling on the bed sheet as a substitute.
As she yanks it off the bed to wrap around herself, she temporarily forgets about the sleeping person holding onto it, nearly sending her flying off the other side of the bed.
“What the—”
“Shut it!” Charlotte hisses, putting one finger in front of her mouth and pointing the other one at the door. “Gabi,” she mouths, and turns around to answer the door. But with her hand on the handle, she realizes Riley will be center stage if it opens too wide.
Instead, she turns back around and yells: “Gimme a minute, Gabi!” She strides over to the barely awake Riley, tugs her away by the wrist, unceremoniously shoves her into the bathroom and closes the door a little too hard.
She walks to the main door for a second time, but stops herself when she considers what the room must smell like.
She quickly opens the bathroom door again, grabs her perfume off the counter, sprays it around the room—and on herself for good measure—and returns it, slamming the door closed again with an apologetic look on her face.
Tightly wrapping the sheet around her torso, she finally opens the door for Gabi.
“I hope this is important enough to interrupt my beauty sleep?” she sneers as she eyes up her friend, who is wearing a light dress, a large floppy hat, and an amused smile on her face when she takes Charlotte in.
“Morning, Charlotte,” she says calmly. “Or… afternoon, I guess.”
“What time is it?”
“Just past noon. I wanted to ask you if you’re up for brunch with us. You’ve missed breakfast and you’re not answering your phone.” Gabi’s expression is still neutral. Friendly. Charlotte suspiciously narrows her eyes.
“If I’m not at breakfast or answering my phone, Gabi, do you think that could perhaps have anything to do with the fact that I’m asleep and would have liked to stay asleep?”
“Again, it’s past noon. I was… worried.” As the thick cloud of perfume wafts past Charlotte and reaches Gabi’s nose, her face scrunches, but she doesn’t say anything.
“I had a rough night. Couldn’t sleep. I was happy to catch a few hours just now—which you ruined, so thanks for that.”
Gabi’s expression changes to one full of pity. “Oh no, a rough night? I hope it’s nothing serious?”
“No, no. Don’t worry. My head was just so full of… secret stuff. I mean secret to you. You and Lou, because of the wedding. Secret wedding stuff. Because you’re getting married.”
“Are you sure I shouldn’t worry?” Gabi asks, crossing her arms. “Because you do look like hell. Where are your clothes—wait, are you feeling hot? Don’t tell me you’re running a fever this close to the wedding?
” She reaches out her hand to place against Charlotte’s forehead, who slaps her hand away before it touches her and hisses like a feral cat.
“Jesus, Gabi, I’m fine. Just tired.” She almost stares a hole through her friend trying to make her leave. Drop it. Just drop it and walk away.
“Don’t go playing the hero now. I can come in and make sure you—”
“Gabrielle.”
Gabi recoils. “My government name?” At Charlotte’s displeased expression, she throws her hands up. “Fine. Don’t say I didn’t offer. So are you coming to brunch then, sleeping beauty?”
“Sure, yeah, I’ll come to brunch. I’ll be down in… 30 minutes.”
Gabi smiles, finally. “Great. See you downstairs.”
Charlotte is about to close the door when Gabi puts her foot in the opening.
“Actually,” she says, pensively scratching the corner of her mouth. “Do you happen to know where Riley is?”
Charlotte’s eyebrows raise in shock, not having expected this question. “Who?”
She instantly realizes how stupid that sounds, so she tries to save herself: “Oh, you mean Riley Riley. Like Lou’s friend Riley. Uhm, nope. No idea.” She curves her lips down in innocence and shrugs.
“Really? Because she isn’t downstairs, and not in her room either.”
“Then why would I know?” Charlotte snaps. “She’s probably just—” She vaguely waves her hand around. “Outside, doing… dumb things. Because she’s… dumb.”
Gabi nods earnestly. “Hm. Yeah, I hadn’t actually considered that.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake Gabi, it’s not like I’m hiding her in my room or something.”
Gabi starts laughing. “My god, no, that would be wild.”
Charlotte forces herself to join in the laughter. “Plot twist of the century, right?”
“Oh yeah, could you imagine?”
“I really couldn’t.”
Their laughter dies down.
“Alright, well, if you happen to see her, can you invite her to brunch too?” Gabi asks.
Charlotte dramatically rolls her eyes and lets out a disgusted sigh. “I mean, sure, if I have to.”
“Thanks, dear. See you downstairs.”
Charlotte shuts the door quickly before Gabi can ask any more annoying questions. She leans against it, breathes a few times, and gives herself a little pep talk. Okay, 30 minutes to fix this mess.
She opens the bathroom door to cuss out Riley for existing, but is completely thrown off when her eyes land on the scene in front of her.
Riley is comfortably curled up on a bunch of towels on the bathroom floor.
Apparently she’s found Charlotte’s robe, because it’s wrapped around her body.
Her head rests on her arms, eyes closed, ostensibly asleep again, as if nothing happened.
But the thing that makes Charlotte want to cry and hit something at the same time, is Shaky peeking out from between her head and her arm.
His playpen is nearby but safely closed off, so Riley must have taken him out.
Charlotte digs the pads of her middle finger and thumb into her eyes, drags her palm down her face, and ultimately cups her own chin. Her other hand lands on her hip and she clears her throat.
Riley cracks one eye open. “If I’m ever on the run from the FBI and you have to cover for me, I’m just gonna turn myself in to spare us all from the embarrassment of your poor acting skills.” The corner of her mouth curves up into a smirk.
Charlotte huffs. “Rude.”
Riley snickers and rolls onto her back, plucking Shaky from somewhere near her neck and securing him on her chest. “You might not win an Oscar for that performance, but I’m sure you could get far with your comedic timing.”
“There’s nothing funny about—”
“Oh come on, Charlotte. That was fucking hilarious.” Riley pushes herself up, pets Shaky one more time and puts him back into his playpen.
“It wasn’t hilarious and it definitely wasn’t—”
“It was very funny.”
The more Charlotte tries to defend herself, the more fun Riley seems to have. She turns her body to get face to face with Charlotte.
“It was not—”
“It was a little bit funny.”
“Not even a little bit.”
Then, it’s like Charlotte sees herself in bird’s eye view: the way they’re bickering in the bathroom, Riley in her robe and Charlotte wrapped in a sheet, nearly choking on a cloud of perfume that had been used as a final resort to erase the evidence from their night.
Charlotte presses her lips together. “Okay. Maybe a little bit funny.”
Riley laughs: a genuine, happy chuckle. When her laughter dies down, a smile stays on her face. Charlotte can tell she wants to say something, but she doesn’t. So Charlotte does.
“You’re expected at brunch in 30 minutes.”