45. It’s time to face the music.
45 /
it’s time to face the music.
charlie
I wake up in an empty bed, in a darkened room. I don’t remember the curtains being closed last night, but they are now, and it’s perfectly cozy in here, and my goodness, these sheets are amazing.
Giving myself a few minutes to luxuriate in this gigantic bed and the fact that it smells like Rafael, I finally make the decision to get up. I quickly brush my teeth, throw my hair in a messy bun, and put my glasses on before grabbing a pair of socks from Raf’s drawer. I hate bare feet.
As I make my way down the stairs, I hear muffled talking and the front door closing. Just as I make it to the last step, Rafael turns around, a tray of drinks in his hand and a paper bag between his teeth. He does a slow perusal of my body from top to bottom, his mouth falling open and the paper bag crashing to the floor. I allow myself to do the same, starting at his bare feet, his absolutely pornographic gray sweatpants, his naked chest, and the thick, black-rimmed glasses on his face. All the man needs now is a backward baseball cap, and he’d be a romance reader’s wet dream.
My wet dream .
Well, too late for that, really.
I realize I’ve gotten caught up in my thoughts when he bends to retrieve the bag and sets it and the tray of drinks on the entryway table. “G-good morning,” he mutters, running a hand through his perfect waves. I’m still frozen on my spot. I don’t want to move. I don’t want to erase this image from my memory. Somebody take a bloody photo!
When he takes a step closer, I snap out of it, physically shaking my head to clear the lust-filled haze I’m in. “Gray sweats and glasses? Really? You didn’t have anything less slutty?” Apparently lust makes me say what I’m thinking, so that’s cool.
His answering grin makes my skin break out in goosebumps everywhere. “I could say the same about you, gata. Wearing my clothes and glasses? What’s next? You’re gonna read to me and play with my hair? Jesus, woman tone down the sex, would ya?” My face must show my confusion because he runs a hand down his face, muttering an apology. “I mean you’re incredibly sexy. This is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. You, in my clothes, after waking up in my bed. And if this were a real-life fantasy playing out, you’d play with my hair while you read to me. After we’d had incredible, mutually mind-blowing sex, of course. Goddamnit, I’m gonna shut up now.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and mutters, “What the fuck was in those migraine meds?”
I pull my lips between my teeth to keep myself from smiling. His rambling soothes the nervousness I’d been feeling when I walked down here. “What have you got there?” I point to the tray of coffee and paper bag next to him.
“Oh, uh, I had breakfast delivered. I wasn’t sure if you’d want hot coffee or cold, so I got you both. And a tea. And Schmidt packed a bunch of stuff for us to eat. He said he made you a grilled cheese. Would you believe he wanted to come in here and give it to you himself?” He huffs out a laugh. “That fucking guy loves you.” I watch his throat bob as he swallows, looking down at his feet. “I would have made us something, but I haven’t been in the kitchen yet, and this just seemed safer.”
My stomach drops to my feet. Of course he didn’t go into the kitchen. For all he knows, it’s covered in the one food that could kill him. This moment of normalcy between us was lovely, but this is the reality. I fucked up. Badly. In the worst way.
Last night, he said he needed me because he was so high on whatever meds he was given, but now, it’s daylight. And the sun is shining brightly on the mistake I made. The one that will probably cost me any chance of being friends or anything else with the one person outside of my sister and best friend who actually gets me.
It’s time to face the music.