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I lean against the headboard, still stark naked, and I wait in case she’s about to return.
I have no idea how long she’s been gone, though, and it seems rather delusional that the sheets would be as cold as they are on her side if she just left.
I know I’m a heavy sleeper, but why would she bolt like that?
I guess she just wanted a night with the tight end.
Well, she got it.
I shouldn’t be broken up about it. I shouldn’t care at all, really. It’s not like this was my first one-night stand.
So why do I care?
I draw in a deep breath as I force myself up to gather my clothes. I’ll need to walk out of this hotel in my suit from lastnight, as if it’s a badge of honor that I’m walking out in daylight in the same clothes I wore to the party last night.
Today is for nursing hangovers and letting go.
I don't know anyone at that charity ball last night who knows who this woman was. She seemed to be fully disconnected from everyone present. But what are my options here? I could ask Lincoln who she was and track her down through him—if he even has that information.
Or I can take it for what it was—one night with an incredible woman that I will more than likely never see again.
She's the one who left without leaving a number behind. Trying to track her down and call her up out of the blue at this point will make me look like the desperate fuck I am.
No…the ball is in her court. If she wanted to get in touch, she would've figured out a way. Hell, she figured out a way to get a last-minute ticket to a sold-out charity ball, so if she wants to find me again, I have no doubt that she will.
Chapter 13: Desiree Dixon
I Didn’t Finish
I head back home on Monday, and I vaguely recall I promised myself I’d finish the book on the plane ahead of Wednesday’s book club meeting, but I can’t concentrate.
Instead, I think about Asher and our night together.
It hasn’t even been forty-eight hours yet, but I’m getting the message loud and clear.
He’s not interested enough to call me back.
It’s a shot to my ego.
He made me feel special for one night, and it was one night for the books. But as it turns out, he’s not much of a book boyfriend if he won’t even use the number I left to give me a call.
A tiny thought somewhere in the recesses of my mind wonders if maybe he never got my note. What if he didn’t?
Of course he did. I couldn’t have left it in a more obvious place, but I think of the millions of times my mom has complained about my dad.I could leave his keys in his hand, and he’d still ask me where they were.
If he didn’t see my number directly under his phone, he’d find a way to get in touch.
I’m home early enough that I decide to swing by the office—in large part to distract myself from checking my phone every few minutes, as if I’d miss his call when I’m glued to the damn thing.
I have plenty to catch up on when I return, and I stay late. The next day is equally busy, and I remind myself never to leave for a whole weekend again.
Except…I’m starting to feel restless, and I’m not even sure why.
I’ve had a one-night stand before, and it didn’t leave this sort of impression on me. So why did Asher? What was so different about him—about us together—that’s pulsing all these new feelings in me?
Being a junior planner isn’t my dream, and I have three years of experience under my belt now. Isn’t it time to stop chasing paperwork and start actually planning events?
Like the charity event I attended this weekend, for example.
