Just This Night (5 page)

He collapsed on top of me, his ragged breath in my ears, his hands still wrapped around me. Then, after discarding the condom, he pulled me close, spooning me against him, his hands on my belly, his head nestled in my hair.

I sighed contentedly, wondering if I should be feeling guilty. After all, I'd slept with a man I'd only just met. But truth be told, at that very moment, nestled in his arms, it felt as if I'd known Mac forever. And I couldn't bring myself to regret a thing.

MAC

U
gh.

I rolled over, burying my head in my pillow, trying to ignore the persistent beams of sunlight boring through my blinds in a way-too-enthusiastic announcement of morning. I just wanted a few more minutes of sleep—was that so wrong? Then I'd get up and be the dad, get Ashley ready for preschool as I did every morning. That was what you did when you had kids. Sleeping in became nothing more than a dream.

But when I stretched out, trying to find a more comfortable position for my last five minutes of peace, my fingers brushed against something soft. Smooth. Something like a . . .

Breast?

I jolted up in bed, suddenly realizing where I was.

What I'd done.

Who
I'd done.

Fuuuuuuuuck
.

I sucked in a breath before daring to look over to my side, dropping my eyes to the sleeping beauty beside me. My gaze involuntarily raked up the entire length of her, completely
naked save for a rumpled bed sheet bunched at her waist. My eyes took in the smooth, tanned skin, the rise and fall of her flawless breasts as she peacefully slumbered, as if she hadn't a care in the world. It was all I could do not to lean down and see if I could kiss her into consciousness, like the princes always did in the movies.

But I wasn't a prince. I was a weak-willed bastard. And I'd already done way too much.

What had I been thinking? Hadn't I just said to my sister not twenty-four hours ago that I was through with women forever? And now I just jump into bed with the first one I come across? Seriously what was wrong with me?

And what about Ashley? I glanced at the nightstand clock. I had to get home before she woke up. Before she wondered where Daddy was and if he'd left her. Left her like Mommy had.

The night the Bitch had walked out on the two of us, I'd made a vow. A vow that I would never, ever let my baby girl wake up alone and scared. And I wasn't about to break that promise now—especially for my own selfish pleasure. Ashley needed me. I was all she had in the world. Which meant any type of a personal life needed to take a backseat . . . at least for now.

I would not let her down.

I would not be her mother.

Quietly, I slipped out of bed, grabbing my jeans off the floor and sliding them over my hips. Then I grabbed my shirt and shoes and headed toward the door. Just before exiting, I found myself turning around for one last look.

God, she was beautiful. Her golden hair now splayed out on her pillow, her long lashes curtaining her beguiling dark eyes. Her mouth was so sweet and sensual and I couldn't help but replay all those hot, wet kisses from the night before in my mind. Hell, it was all I could do to restrain myself from jumping back into bed and continuing where we left off, consequences be damned.

I forced myself back to the door. Goddamn it, what was wrong with me? I had to get out of there. Fast. Before she
woke up and wanted things like phone numbers and future dates and relationship status changes on Facebook. Things a girl like her totally deserved. Things a guy like me couldn't give.

Guilt knotted in my stomach as I sank down onto the couch to slip on my shoes. The couch I was supposed to have slept on last night. If only I had stayed strong, never agreed to come here in the first place. I wasn't an idiot. I knew what she'd been asking. I knew what would happen if I agreed to come home with her. But I had been like a crack addict being offered the perfect fix. I couldn't say no.

Hell, I hadn't wanted to say no.

Drawing in a breath, I looked around, searching for pen and paper. I needed to at least leave her my phone number. So we could talk about what had happened. Talk about why it could never happen again. I could tell her that it wasn't her, that it was me, and that in this case the cliché line was actually true. She was so sweet. So nice. She deserved for me to let her down gently. To understand that she was perfect—completely perfect. And I was the damaged goods.

“Well, well, well. If it isn't Mr. Throbbing Love Lance himself, making a beeline for the door.”

I looked up startled. Beth's roommate—Stephanie?—was leaning in the doorframe, dressed in a scanty pink negligee that barely covered the important parts. She was voluptuous, with full lips and big eyes and even bigger boobs. The kind of girl most guys would fall over backward to get with. But to me, she had nothing on her friend.

“Excuse me?” I said, glancing longingly at my watch and then the front door. It was getting later and later and I didn't have time for conversation. But I didn't want to be rude. The two of them were going to hate me enough after this—I didn't need to give them additional ammunition.

She chuckled meanly. I noticed her eyes were black from smudged mascara and her lips still stained with the remnants of blood red lipstick. “Don't worry,” she purred. “I wasn't planning on cooking you breakfast. I just wanted to thank you before you took off.”

I cocked my head. “Thank me?” I repeated.

“For doing the deed. Getting Lizzie laid. Trust me, she'll be so much better off, now that she's got the first one down.”

I stared at her, uncomprehending.

“I'm sorry,” Stephanie said, looking anything but. “Did she not tell you? That was the whole reason she went to the club last night in the first place.”

“What?” I asked, sudden unease creeping into my stomach. “What are you talking about?”

She smirked. “Come on, does Beth seem like a club kid to you? She hates those kinds of places. But she needed a quick screw to get back at her stupid ex-boyfriend. And where better than Club Rain to hunt for easy prey? Well, obviously
you
know.”

She winked at me and I scowled at the implication. I wanted to argue—that Beth wasn't that type of girl. That she and I had connected. That what we'd done hadn't been some empty screw. That
I
was the bastard making what could have been a wonderful friendship into a one-night stand—not her.

But was that really true? While I didn't trust her roommate as far as I could throw her, thinking back on it now, I realized the whole night was a little odd. Meeting a girl like Beth in such a skanky bar—a silk purse surrounded by sow's ears. She claimed she was waiting for her roommate—fine. But why had she agreed to come in the first place? Had she just been humoring Stephanie? Or had she had another plan in mind from the start? Had I truly stumbled on her by chance? Or had she been parked at the bar all night, fishing for someone—anyone—willing to get her off.

No. I frowned. She wasn't like that. She wasn't that type of girl.

Though . . . She
had
been the one to ask me to dance. The one who had tried to kiss me on the dance floor. Talked me into coming home with her. Told me the couch was not as comfortable as her bed.

Had a drawer full of condoms at the ready.

Jesus
. I raked a hand through my hair. And here I'd been all worried about breaking
her
heart.

It was ironic, really. I'd been feeling like a bastard for sneaking out on her first thing in the morning and now I realized she was probably hiding in her bedroom, at this very moment, praying I'd leave without a fuss. To make a quick exit and avoid all that morning after awkward and all the fake promises that came with it.

And if that was true, well, that was the perfect scenario, really—for both of us. We'd had a great time, gotten what we'd needed from one another, and now we could both move on.

No hurt feelings.

No big deal.

Except . . . I grimaced, finding myself glancing over at her bedroom door again, almost against my will, an unexpected swell of disappointment sweeping through my stomach. It kind of felt like a big deal. And my feelings? Well, they kind of fucking hurt.

Come on, Mac. Grow a pair. This is for the best and you know it. You got a pass, you lucky bastard. Take it and be grateful.

I finished the note, signed my name. Debated on leaving my phone number and then decided against it. What good would it do? If she did call, it would only prolong the inevitable. Double down on my mistake. Sure, she'd probably think I was a bit of an asshole. Or a coward, maybe. In truth, she wouldn't be wrong.

She doesn't want this any more than you do,
I reminded myself.
It's for the best.

I shook my head.
And this is why you need to stay clear of women,
I reminded myself as I set the note on the counter and headed for the door. I could feel Stephanie's eyes still on me, a small smirk playing at the corners of her lips.

I sighed. “See you later,” I said.

She snorted. “I doubt it.”

Yeah. Me, too.

BETH

I
opened one eye, then the other, squinting for a moment at the bright sunshine peering curiously through my bedroom window. Scarcely able to breathe, I rolled over quietly, not wanting to wake the sleeping man in my bed.

The sleeping man in my bed!

A delicious tingle of adrenaline wiggled through my stomach as my mind replayed scenes from the night before. Mac taking me into his arms. Mac peeling off my dress. Mac touching me in all the right places. Mac making me come like I'd never come before.

Mac . . . who was not, it turned out, still sleeping in my bed.

For a crazy split second I entertained the idea that I had dreamt it all. The mind-blowing sex, the postcoital cuddling. Drifting off into dreamland, cradled in warm, solid arms. Had that really all happened? I stuffed my face into the pillow beside me and breathed in deep. It smelled just like him and suddenly I knew it had all happened—just like I remembered it. And it had all been amazing.

I lifted my head, scanning the room. My eyes fell upon an unfamiliar jacket, tossed over my desk chair. I let out a
sigh of relief. For a moment I thought maybe he'd taken off early, without even saying good-bye. But he was still here. I smiled to myself. Maybe he was out in the living room, checking sports scores on his phone. Or taking an early jog on the beach. Maybe he was even in my kitchen, right this very second, fixing me a big breakfast in bed.

I hugged myself, grinning at the idea. Imagining him returning to the room clad only in his boxers, carrying a tray piled high. He'd straddle my legs and dip a fork into fluffy scrambled eggs (knowing somehow that they were my favorite), feeding me between tender little kisses. Then, once we were done eating, he'd put the tray aside and continue where we'd left off. In the end, we'd accidentally spend the entire day in bed, forgetting the world outside until Monday morning called.

And maybe then I'd call in sick to work.

I flopped back onto my pillow, staring up at the ceiling, unable to stop smiling. It had been far too long since I'd felt like this. Far too long that I'd put up with Ryan and his empty promises. If only I'd known what else was out there.
Who
else was out there. Maybe I wouldn't have dealt with disappointment for so long.

Seriously, I owed Stephanie a major thank-you.

At last I shrugged off my sheet and swung my legs from the bed to the floor. Stretching my arms over my head, I let out a long yawn, then slipped my feet into my fuzzy slippers. I glanced over at my closet, debating getting dressed, then determined a robe was a better bet, to save Mac the trouble of tearing off my clothes again after breakfast. The thought made me giggle—and I felt my face flush. Seriously, it was like I'd been transformed into an entirely different person overnight. Ryan wouldn't even recognize me.

Opening my bedroom door, I headed down the hall, trying to muster up an appropriate greeting. What would Emily Post say about addressing a sex god the morning after? I bit my lower lip, suddenly feeling a little nervous. Was this going to be awkward? Would the light of day make things weird between us? But no, Mac had been so cool. So nice.
He'd made me feel so comfortable. With him, it wouldn't be awkward. It would just be . . .

. . . nonexistent.

I looked around, confused. The living room was empty. The TV was off. There was no clattering of pots and pans, no smell of frying bacon wafting from the kitchen. My heart sank a little. Did he really leave? Maybe he had to go to work or something—I never did get a chance to ask him what he did for a living—maybe it involved weekend hours. Heart fluttering nervously, I walked into the kitchen. My eyes fell upon a piece of paper on the counter.

Hey Beth,

Had a great time last night. Sorry I had to bail early—got a ton of unpacking to do before I start my new job. Thanks again for letting me crash. You were right, the bed was MUCH more comfortable than the couch.

Thanks again,

Mac

I stared down at the note, my stomach swimming with nausea. Then I turned it over, thinking that couldn't be it—that there had to be more. A phone number, an email at the very least . . .

But there was nothing.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Blood began to pound behind my temples and a gnawing fear ground at my stomach. I didn't want to believe what my mind was telling me, but what other explanation could there be? Mac had woken up, bright and early, to exit my life as abruptly as he had entered it, leaving the most cursory note behind. Which could only mean one thing.

A one-night stand.

My heart wrenched, realization hitting me over the head with the force of a ten-ton truck. I, Beth White, had just had
a one-night stand. A one-night stand with a stranger. A stranger I would probably never see again.

Okay, okay, sure, that
was
the original idea of going to the club and finding a guy to begin with. But wasn't
I
supposed to be the one to call the terms of the arrangement? Wasn't
I
supposed to be the one to say thank you for a wonderful night and then walk away?

Okay, that sounded totally selfish, didn't it? And it wasn't like I was going to actually have done that. Not to Mac anyway. Mac who was cool and funny and sweet and had held me all night long.

Held me like I meant something.

Had I meant anything at all?

I wandered back to my room, half in a daze, my stomach knotted as if I were hungover, even though I hadn't drunk a drop the night before. As I sank down onto my bed—my oh-so-empty bed—I tried to tell myself that it was no big deal. That this was how it was supposed to work from the very beginning. That I should be grateful he saved me the awkwardness of a morning after good-bye.

But all the rationalities in the world couldn't stanch the ache in my heart. Because no matter what I had intended, the reality was, I liked him. I really, really liked him. And I never would have gone through with any of this—despite Stephanie's urging—if I'd realized it would end like this.

Did he not feel any of what I had felt? Had it all been an act—just to get in my pants? Or had I said something at some point to make him change his mind about me? Did I talk in my sleep? Snore really loudly? Something—anything—to make him bolt for the door?

Disappointment, mixed with hurt, welled inside of me as my mind tried to comb through everything that had happened the night before. Had he planned this from the start? Had I completely missed the signs? But no. He'd been a total gentleman. He'd asked me repeatedly if I was sure I wanted this, clearly ready to back down—to sleep on the couch—if I'd shown any hesitation. Not to mention afterward, we had
cuddled all night long. Why would he bother, if he was just after the sex?

And if it wasn't just about sex, why not a second date? Why wouldn't this smart, interesting, cool guy want to see me again? Or hell, at least give me the courtesy of a lie, a promise of a phone call that would never come. Wasn't I at least deserving of that?

At least now I knew what the
A
stood for on his arm.

Asshole.

I sucked in a breath, trying to regain my sanity. The night had happened, I tried to rationalize. The deed was done. No tears or crazy revenge plots were going to change anything now. In fact, it would probably be best just to chalk the whole thing up to a learning experience and move on. After, of course, vowing to never listen to Stephanie again.

I glanced over at the phone, charging on my nightstand, having the sudden urge to call Ryan and then hating myself for even thinking it. After all, what would he say to me if I told him how stupid I'd been? That I deserved what I got? That I was an idiot? A slut? That my sister would never do this kind of thing?

I shook my head, feeling a pang of loneliness deep in my gut. I considered waking Stephanie and telling her what had happened, but I already knew she wouldn't understand. In fact, she'd probably see this as a perfect opportunity for me to now hunt down guy number two.

I sighed, my eyes falling once again to the black jacket, hanging on the back of the chair.
His
jacket. In his rush to leave, he'd left his jacket behind. I stared at it for a moment, wondering if throwing it on the fire pit in the back yard and having a little bonfire would make me feel better.

But no. I wasn't the kind of girl who did that, even if the man in question deserved it. I would rise above. Return the jacket, assuming he'd left some kind of ID inside to help me locate him. (Bet he was wishing he left his phone number now!)

I slid off the bed and began digging through the pockets,
seeing if Mr. One-Night Stand left the dude equivalent of a glass slipper behind.

It didn't take long for me to find the wallet, cradled in the inside pocket. With shaking fingers, I pulled it out and flipped it open. Inside I found a few singles, credit cards, a Massachusetts driver's license belonging to a Jake MacDonald, twenty-eight years old. I sighed. So much for that plan. Even if I wanted to return this to him, I didn't have any idea where he currently lived.

Sliding the license back into the wallet, I pulled out the final piece of paper from the billfold, unfolded it and started to read . . .

. . . and almost dropped the letter.

Oh. My. God.

I stared down at the letter, my eyes filled with horror.

No.

This could not be happening.

This could
so
not be happening.

I stared at the letter again, as if reading it over for the tenth time would make the words change on the page. But they remained stubbornly in place. Black and white. And impossible to argue.

It was a letter of employment.

A letter of employment from Mac's new employer.

A letter of employment from Mac's new employer, News 9 San Diego.

A letter of employment from Mac's new employer, News 9 San Diego, where I currently was employed, too.

Yes, it seemed the very man who had waltzed in and out of my life in just one night had already signed on for a much more permanent gig—as my TV station's newest videographer.

This was so not good.