Chapter 15
15
IT’S YOUR JOB TO SHOW THEM THAT YOU CAN DO IT ALL BY YOURSELF
I tiptoe into my own kitchen, desperately needing a cup of coffee to ease the pounding headache that’s currently wreaking havoc to my sanity, while simultaneously trying not to wake the sleeping giant currently passed out in my living room.
Riley is sprawled out asleep across my couch, somehow becoming shirtless between the time I went to bed last night and this morning. He’s sleeping so peacefully, seeming unfazed by the same headache that plagues me, no doubt caused by the copious amounts of tequila consumed by the both of us last night.
I should’ve known I was going to regret drinking; my body isn’t used to the intake of alcohol and this would be the second time I woke up hungover after spending an evening with Riley. He’s either a bad influence or I am, either way, not something I have the mental capacity to figure out at the moment.
First, coffee.
The smell of it wafting in my nose gives me a small sense of relief that it doesn’t make me nauseous. Still trying to be as quiet as possible, I slowly open the cabinet that houses all of my coffee mugs, only to grab one then knocking into the two right beside it.
Just my luck.
I still, peering over at Riley to make sure the clanking didn’t disturb him. He hasn’t moved, his right arm still slung over his eyes, the other draped over his stomach. Confident he’s still asleep, I attempt to grab the mug quieter this time.
“Make that two please,” the deep drawl of a sleepy voice startles me.
I pull the mugs out of the cabinet with less grace now that he’s awake. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” I grab the carafe off the warming plate and place the mugs on the island. My gaze drifts to the movement in the living room, the tanned stomach flexing to hoist its body upright, showing off chiseled abs and unblemished skin.
Riley rubs the sleep out of his eyes and runs another hand through his hair when I force myself to stop ogling him. Afraid if I do it any longer, the contents of the carafe might make its way onto the island versus inside the cups.
“How do you take it?” I ask, attempting to focus on anything other than his half naked body.
“Just black is fine.”
I don’t understand how anyone can drink just black coffee, whereas I have to have so much creamer that it begs the question if it would still be considered coffee after I’m done with my concoction. “Would you rather me just put it in an I.V.?” I offer sarcastically.
Riley’s husky morning laugh fills the air. “Ah, the Princess has jokes.”
My nose scrunches at his incessant need to call me that but luckily for him, I have about as much energy this morning as the tin y alien did in Men in Black trying to mumble out the clue Orion’s Belt to fight him on it.
Admittedly, I do like to hear him laugh though. We had watched The Naked Gun starring Leslie Nielsen last night, one of Riley’s favorite comedy movies I learned from our lengthy game of twenty-one questions. And while it wasn’t quite my favorite, I did enjoy hearing his uncontrolled laughter and constant quoting of the scenes.
After that, he agreed to watch one of my guilty pleasure movies; She’s The Man starring Amanda Bynes and Channing Tatum. I smile at the memory of him pretending that it was too cheesy of a romcom to be funny but when I’d glance over from time to time I would catch the slip of a chuckle.
Success!
At some point we had ordered a plethora of Chinese take-out that didn’t pair well with margaritas but we had done it anyway. We ate at the coffee table, with whatever the streaming app decided to play after my movie choice ended just to fill the silence in the background, and continued our inquisitive game from earlier.
As the alcohol transferred from the glass jug to the human body, the questions and the answers seemed to get more ridiculous and make less sense.
“If you were a donkey, what would be your favorite body part?” I had asked while stifling a laugh so hard it made me snort which caused me to laugh even harder.
“Ears. So I can hear that snort better.” Riley had answered, resulting in both of us ending up in such hysterical laughter that caused our bellies to ache and the inability to take in a lungful of air to breathe.
We spent the rest of the night asking off the wall questions, arguing about who’s movie was better, and playing charades to get each other to guess the movie. A game no side could really win because our tastes in film were so drastically different. His, a love for the eighties. Mine, a love for cheesy romantic comedies that probably never earned a Rotten Tomato score higher than fifty percent.
It was entertaining either way. I wasn’t sure who passed out first but when I woke up in the middle of the night, I grabbed my phone to see what time it was, three thirty am. Not wanting to wake him to move him into the spare bedroom, I pulled the comforter from that bed and dragged it into the living room to drape over him. I decided against trying to lift his head to place the pillow under so I left it above him in case he would go searching for one at some point during the night.
Once I was satisfied with my unexpected overnight guest’s accommodations, I made my way into my bedroom and plopped on the bed dreading the moment I woke up again with signs of a hangover from hell already forming at my temples.
Riley rises up from the couch and makes his way towards the kitchen, bringing me back to the present. “Thank you,” he says while grabbing the other cup of coffee. Barely able to form any sort of retort, I just give him a lazy thumbs up and sip on my own cup.
We both sit in comfortable silence while we check our phones for any missed texts, calls, or emails. Me, too hungover to be a functioning adult, emails my boss to notify him that I still am not feeling well and will be taking another sick day. Not a complete lie, I don’t have a mirror in front of me but if I did, I can only imagine I probably resemble something closer to a swamp thing than my usual look. Next were a few texts from Sam, Lauren, and the group chat with all three. One in particular stood out.
Sam
BABE! Please say yes! He’s a total hottie!
Sam was kind enough to attach a photo of a man with blonde hair, blue eyes, and from what I can tell, tanned skin. If his hair was a bit longer he would look like he belonged on the beach with a surfboard tucked under his arm offering surfing lessons instead of the business man in a light gray suit staring back at me.
I sigh. Expelling all the air in my lungs before plopping my head down on my arm feeling deflated. I hate the prospect of another date where I’m forced to smile and pretend I’m interested in anything someone had to say but hating the eventual nagging from Sam even more. I’m always torn between the two evils. All I can do is let out another sigh.
“Do I even want to know?” Riley asks curiously, eyes peering over his mug before taking a sip. Without lifting my head, I take my phone and shove it in the direction of his face, showing him Sam’s message and the picture.
“Why is this such a bad thing?”
A sudden twinge of annoyance hits me. It’s not like I had expected him to be jealous at the idea of me dating another guy, but it does surprise me how much it irritates me that he doesn’t even seem bothered by the idea. I don’t really know why. I don’t even want to date anyone but that doesn’t mean I want him to feel nothing. I shake it off before responding.
“Because.” Sounding like a snotty teenager but a vague non-answer would have to do due to the pounding headache leaving very little energy to come up with a better retort.
Riley chuckles as he offers me a lopsided grin, “ah, a Princess in waiting then? Is the hope to just wait at the top of this tower unti l Mr. Right stumbles upon you while you lock yourself in here?”
“That is not true!” I practically yell at him before I regain my composure. “I am not waiting, ” offended at his assessment of my love life and the idea of waiting for anyone, especially a man. “Why do I need to even be in a relationship? I’m happy, I might not have someone falling asleep next to me every night but I also answer to no one but myself. How is that not enough? Why is it so damn hard to fathom that a woman can’t be happy unless she’s coupled?” I can feel the heat soaring across my cheeks and my chest rising and falling in anger, hangover be damned.
Riley’s lip lifts again in an infuriating smile, showcasing that dimple in his cheek that makes me forget anything before its appearance. “It’s not. The hard thing to fathom, Princess, is why you have such a hard time just saying that to your friend. You are perfect, with or without someone by your side.”
You. Are. Perfect. Three innocent words that I did not expect to hear, causing those damn butterflies that reside in my stomach to flap their wings in booming unison, almost knocking the breath from my lungs. It almost makes me forget why I’m so annoyed in the first place.
Almost.
But not before remembering what was said prior to me becoming absolute putty in his hands. I don’t like him trying to get a rise out of me or the fact that he can so easily when I’m usually in such control of my emotions, except for the previous day when I’d practically ran to the Garden seeking refuge from an emotional breakdown. It annoys me that I’ve become so unraveled twice now in less than a twenty-four-hour window, and he’s here to witness all of it.
I’m so annoyed with myself.
And him too. Just because.
I don’t want to admit that he does have a point, why can’t I just tell Sam that I’m perfectly happy focusing on myself?
You’re a coward, that’s why . I’m biting my bottom lip until it starts to hurt, a habit I really need to break before I do irreparable damage to my skin. I only do it when I am physically trying to bite back my words before whatever escapes from them can’t be taken back. I’ve never considered myself as a pusillanimous person before. I stood up to my father and I left behind a legacy that was created for me to create my own, albeit unsuccessfully so far, but my own nonetheless.
Who am I kidding? Thinking about it now, that’s about the only brave thing I've done up until this point. I don’t stand up for myself at work, while I work hard, I never speak up when I run into misogynistic bosses and coworkers.
I don’t tell Sam, no, every time she suggests I go on these dates even though I’d love nothing more than to get those hours back.
Feeling deflated for a whole other set of reasons besides the hangover that’s now taking a backseat to the headache caused by my realization, I flop my head back down on my arm. “Urg. I’macoward,” I mumble, the words muffled by my arm.
The feeling of Riley’s hand stroking the back of my head makes me want to purr. “You’re not a coward.” His cooing voice holds a slight hint of laughter but I’m sure the humor has more to do with how pathetic I look. He attempts to grab my arm to get me to lift my head but I refuse to budge, mumbling some more incoherent whines in the curve of my arm.
“You’re not a coward because you don’t want to hurt your friends’ feelings by saying no. I think that makes you a good person.” Riley ’s attempting to make me feel better but failing miserably. “What do you want, Amelia? Why do you hate these blind dates so much?” His voice is low, soft, and full of genuine interest.
I turn my head then, not quite lifting it from my arm. My right ear now nestles into the crook instead, “honestly?”
“Honestly.”
I take a large breath in and out. “I want to stop pretending to care about what some stranger has to say from across the table when I can’t bring myself to want to be there. That sounds mean I know. And I know people also say ‘how will you ever meet someone if you don’t go out?’ but I really don’t care. I don’t know if that makes me heartless or cold, but the idea of doing the whole song and dance of dating right now does nothing for me. I know I’m supposed to feel excited and giddy to get ready and to be wined and dined, but I don’t,” I admit. “Maybe that makes me broken or whatever, but I want to just do whatever I want, whenever I want. Does that make me selfish?”
I look up at him fighting back stupid tears that I can’t get a handle on lately. I know I look like a petulant child and probably sound like one too. I’m prepared to see judgment and annoyance because what guy in their right mind wouldn’t run at the first sign of my disastrous life or my super whiny attitude towards the opposite sex? Instead, he takes the pad of his thumb and brushes away the stray hair from my face, resting his hand on my cheek. “You’re everything but broken, Amelia. Your friends want to make sure you’re taken care of and loved because they love you. The world portrays women as needing that companionship. But you? You’re the farthest thing from broken and you’re going to have to fight the stigma and go against the norm because the worlds just not used to a Princess saving herself. It’s yo ur job to show them that you can do it all by yourself.”
His words cause my breath to catch in my throat and the stinging of holding back tears burns my nose. How does this man, who’s known me for a little over two weeks, have a better understanding of who I am and what I need than the closest people in my life?
I don’t say anything back. I don’t want to break this moment and I definitely don’t want him to remove his hand. His touch grounds me and I’ll give anything to live in this moment just a little while longer.
After a few drawn out seconds sitting in our usual comfortable silence, he rubs his thumb back and forth before severing the connection between us. The cold air hitting my face in the absence of his touch. I sit up, wipe the escaped tear away and glance down to see my fingers are covered in black mascara.
I gasp, “I’ll be right back.” I hurry to the bedroom to look at myself in the vanity mirror above my dresser.
Dear God.
Staring back at me is a disheveled version of myself. The usually polished image has turned into a literal swamp creature in the middle of the night. I can’t tell if this is my hair or if a bird’s nest had formed on the top of my head. The mascara is smeared around my eyes causing my face to resemble a raccoon.
What. The.
I grab my hair brush and yank it through the tangled strands of this brunette disaster until it starts to look more like my naturally straightened style, not really caring that I’m probably pulling out more hair than usual with my aggressive pulls.
I reach into my purse to grab the makeup wipes I keep in there for emergenc ies to clean up the black rings circling my eyes and then add a touch of pink tinted Chapstick to my pale dehydrated lips.
It’s too late, Riley has already seen the monster that woke up in place of the life form staring back at me now but that doesn’t mean I will keep looking like that. I peer down and notice that in my drunken state and out of pure habit to not sleep with a bra on, I am in fact braless as well, and have been the entire morning.
The hardened peaks of my breasts are clearly visible through the thin tank top I slept in. Seriously ? Rolling my eyes, clearly I’m destined to be annoyed with everything about my appearance this morning. I toss on my thick UNC Chapel Hill sweatshirt and make my way back into the kitchen with the little dignity I have left .