Page 20 of Full Out Fiend

Maybe I can talk her into staying for breakfast. I know we said this was just for the night, but maybe If I get up before her, I could make waffles. Waffles… bacon… homemade whipped cream. There’s no way she’ll pass on round four if homemade whipped cream is involved.

I puff out my cheeks and steady my breathing, reluctantly rising up to head to the bathroom.

My feet falter, just slightly, as I stretch my legs and take tentative steps across the room. There’s a legit possibility I’ll be sore in the morning. This woman’s got insane stamina.

Yawning, I flick on the vanity light above the sink and make my way to the toilet, moving to take care of the condom before I take a piss.

As soon as I feel it, I know.

The sensation of ick followed by stomach-dropping dread is an unmistakable combination.

I quietly groan as I shift into the glow of light from the vanity, then glance down to confirm my suspicions.

Goddammit.

There’s a significant tear in the condom dangling off my half-mast dick. The whole thing’s a mess.

There goes my dream of a good night’s sleep, breakfast in bed, and more sex.

I curse under my breath and hop into the shower, not bothering to let it warm up as I scrub myself clean. My brain goes into damage control mode. My blood pressure ramps up by the second.

I try to calm my breathing as I towel off and mentally prepare for the inevitable freak-out I’m about to submit Daphne to.

Part of me wants to freak out, too. But that impulse is eclipsed by the urge to remain calm and make this as painless as possible for her. She’s been through more than enough this weekend. I refuse to let this speed bump decimate what we’ve shared.

I’ll tell her what happened and soothe her if I can. I’ll encourage her to go back to bed, then we’ll go to the drugstore first thing for the morning-after pill.

While she sleeps, I’ll look up side effects and figure out what else I can do to help.

I can handle this.

It’ll be okay.

I towel off quickly, then hit the light switch, casting the bathroom into darkness. Taking one more fortifying breath, I straighten my spine and walk back to the bedroom.

As soon as my feet move from the cool tiled floor to the plush carpeting of the room, my nerves fire off.

Something’s not right.

Beyond the one thing that just went really, really wrong—something else is off, too.

I make my way to the side of the bed and tap the lamp on my bedside table, casting a soft, low light around the room.

The actual fuck?

My bed’s empty.

The whole damn room is empty.

I give myself whiplash, jerking my head from side to side as reality sinks in.

Daphne isn’t here. And neither is any of her stuff.

She left—she fucking left—and I don’t even know her full name or her phone number or how the hell I’m supposed to find her if she doesn’t want to be found.

I scrub my hand through my hair, then pinch the wrinkle above my nose.

Think, asshole. Think.