Page 24 of Boyfriend of the Hour

Well, Ihadsolved my housing problem. At least for one night.

And that had all led to this moment of muttering “Fuck,” then wincing in the light. My voice sounded like it had been chopped up with razors. How many drinks had I had last night?

Still remaining horizontal, I took in my surroundings and patched together exactly where I was and how I’d gotten here.

Last call.

Way too much tongue.

A stranger who complimented my favorite thrifted miniskirt.

And he was…the lump now snoring next to me, whose name was…

“Dammit,” I whispered. I honestly could not remember.

And I thought last night had been rock bottom.

Beside me, the lump shifted and emitted a sound like an elephant’s chuff. Then he rolled onto his back, and I was met with an utterly normal face with a half-grown beard, a soft chest that needed a few months at the beach, and…well, not the biggest boner in the world underneath his blanket. Probably not even a medium-sized boner. It wasn’t exactly a family-size camper, but enough to pitch a tent. Or a beach pop-up.

Yeah, it had come across that way last night too. I rubbed my face as a few more memories came back. Some sloppy kisses around my neck and heavy petting on the living room couch. Stumbling into his bedroom, where he made a few sad attempts to treat my clit like a light switch. Heavy breathing and a couple of weak thrusts against my thigh before the guy had totally lost his hard-on. And then Darren had passed out?—

Darren! That was his name!

Or…wait… Was it Aaron?

Baron?

No, that couldn’t be right.

Dammit.

I waited to see if the lump-that-probably-rhymed-with-Karen would move again. “Snuggles” weren’t exactly on the menu this morning—not with my raging headache and his morning breath from Mordor.

When the lump didn’t move for a solid sixty seconds, I began the slow dance of extricating myself from a man’s bed and locating my clothes without waking him. Careful not to disturb the sleeping walrus, I tiptoed around the room and managed to locate my jeans, my black sweater, my underwear, and one sock. My bra had gone missing, but since the mystery man over there had rolled over twice since I’d gotten up, he was getting a souvenir.

Bummer. I liked that bra a lot. It was green and matched my eyes.

I dressed in the hallway of what was plainly a very nice apartment. A classic six, by the looks of the second bedroom, the formal dining room, and the living room I stumbled past. The eat-in kitchen was massive by Manhattan standards. Apartments this big were all over the Bronx, but in Manhattan cost a mint.

Looks like What’s-His-Name did all right for himself. Enough that I’d probably want to see him again if I were that kind of girl.

But I wasn’t. Not yet, anyway.

I slid on my Vans, located my leather jacket on the thick gray couch in the living room, and then, for no reason at all, paused at the front door to take a last look.

It really was a nice place. Sleek wood floors that were made for pirouettes. Comfortable-looking furniture that was luxe without being too flashy. Warm white walls decorated with black and white photographs that were a bit more interesting than the average crap at Target.

It was the kind of apartment that, under normal circumstances, I might want to hang out in for a while. Kick back. Have a cocktail. Just get comfortable.

But no. It was back to Belmont for me, where I’d accept the key to the garage with my head hanging low and say goodbye to my childhood home once and for all.

“Bye,” I whispered to the apartment as I quietly opened the door. “I’d say ‘see you later,’ but we both know that’s never gonna happen.”

Kate: Joni, are you okay?

Lea: Where are you? Are you alive?

Frankie: Please come home. We are worried about you.