Chapter 8
SOSIE
It’s surprising how bright an overcast sky is when you’re trying to hide from the light.
I blink several times to block it out, but I’m too awake to fight against the invasion of our space through the window.
It’s not the only thing waking me this fine morning.
Keats’s erection is pressed against my lower back.
“We had sex.”
I clamp my hand over my mouth but can’t stop the giggle that follows. He stirs, so I freeze in place.
But I finally had sex. I sigh happily.
I want to squeal and celebrate, but I grin, unable to stop myself because we had sex, and it can never be taken back—oh .
. . Okay, so even minor movements have me feeling every muscle in my body and a few I didn’t even know existed.
Keats really did consume me, making me feel sexier than I’ve ever felt in my life.
The tiny lights on the miniature tree still shine in the corner, catching my attention while I lie here tucked in his arms. Somehow, his apartment brings me more comfort than my own home.
I’m safe here, protected from my family’s demands of me.
I snuggle closer to my Poet. He shifts, but the consistent breathing of his sleep remains a peaceful lullaby.
It’s tempting to fall back asleep, to ignore the world, and remain here in this perfect little universe, but I need to go home and take a shower, brush my teeth, and clean the makeup that I’m sure looks like a dreadful mess off my face.
So I fight the urge to stay in bed with him all day, slip out from under his arm, which suddenly feels like a ton of bricks, and roll off the side of the mattress.
Lying on the blue rug and hardwoods, I look back at the man I just gave my virginity to, and smile.
“How are you so handsome even when sleeping?” I whisper, not expecting an answer.
It’s not just his looks that have drawn me in.
It’s him, the whole man—the poetry, and the way I danced on the street and he wasn’t embarrassed.
When he kisses me, it’s like we’ve done it a million times in a different lifetime.
My heart races as I touch my lips and smile again. If smiles were measured in decibels, mine would be louder than a foghorn. And it’s not going away anytime soon.
I push up to my feet and wrap my arms around my naked body as I scamper to the bathroom.
I wash my hands, then rest my palms on the sink's edge, scanning for any changes. I lean closer to the mirror. “Dang, I look tired.” I swipe at the mascara under my eyes, but it will take some scrubbing when I get home. I lean back, still smiling like a goofball, and touch my swollen lips once more. “That man is better than injections . . . wait, that’s funny.” I was injected alright.
I crack up but cover my mouth again to keep the noise contained in this tiny room.
When I collect myself the best I can, which isn’t great because I’m way too happy to filter this joy, I tiptoe back out to my coat and pull my phone from the pocket.
A harsh breath chokes in my throat when my gaze trails lower to the message at the bottom of the screen:
Get home. Now.
My dad’s text twists my stomach into knots, and the bubble of bliss I was happily living in instantly bursts.
I slide my gaze to Keats to see him rearranging his body around my absence.
Legs tangled in the sheets, the blanket barely covers his backside.
He doesn’t wake, but I kind of wish he would. I could use some advice.
Although I already know what I’m going to do. I may not like my dad’s impatient approach, but I know I’ll still go as demanded. Do I have a choice? He controls my entire life in the palm of his hand.
I start searching for my thong because the sooner I deal with him, the sooner I can return to Keats.
My search-and-rescue ends empty-handed, so I pull on my sweatpants and then my socks.
I spin once to locate my shirt, snatching it from behind the table where it landed.
I don’t bother with my sweater. I can find it later.
Scooping the necklace and earrings up from the table, I quietly pad over to the other side of the room. I hook each earring to a branch, making the perfect ornaments for the bare tree, then tap to watch them dangle and catch the light.
I drape the necklace at the top and wind it around until I run out of length.
Admiring my work, I grin with pride at such a simple act.
It looks so much better on this tree than it ever could on me.
That tree is also now holding thousands of dollars’ worth of jewelry, so I’m not surprised it’s so eye-catching.
But decorating the tree is a momentary reprieve from the impending doom I’m about to face. Putting off these “meetings” has never served me well, so I might as well get it over with.
I don’t see a pen or paper, so I text Keats that I’ll see him later.
Setting my phone down on the console, I slip my feet into my boots, grab my coat from the hook, and quietly exit the apartment.
As soon as I close the door, I bend down to tie my laces, but realize I just left my phone inside.
Dammit. I gently turn the knob only to be blocked by an automatic lock. “No.” Ugh. “For real with this?”
I can’t knock without waking Keats, so I abandon the idea and leave without it. The stairs aren’t so bad when going down. It’s the up that about killed me last night. Fortunately, I had Keats’s lips to resuscitate me.
Keats. It feels like I’m living in a dream with him.
I shouldn’t need an ally against my own parents, but I have no doubt he’d be here with me if I asked. It’s ridiculous that I trust a man I’ve only known for one night more than my own family.
I push out the door and luck into a cab passing by. Hopping in, I sit back with my father’s text plaguing me. I thought they’d be long gone on their vacation, so it leaves me worrying about why they stayed and what they want to talk about.
When I’m dropped off, I hurry to the gate to punch in the code, hoping to sneak in a shower before they realize I’m home.
I shoulder the gate out of habit, only to realize it never unlocked.
Huh . . . I punch the pound sign several times to clear the other code and reenter it.
Again, the gate doesn’t budge. “Okaaaay. Odd.” I purse my lips to the side, confused.
My stomach drops as my mind finally catches up and fills in the blanks.
I press the voice communication button and wait for someone to answer.
“How may I help you?” I don’t recognize the male voice, but it is a holiday, so maybe he’s temporarily filling in.
“Hi, it’s Sosie. Sosie Stansbury. Do you mind buzzing me in?”
“Right away, Ms. Stansbury.” The lock unlatches so easily that I’m starting to think it’s no coincidence that my code didn’t work.
I’ve had knock-down, drag-out fights with my parents before, but my gut tells me that is not what’s about to happen. It’s worse.