Page 81 of I Saw You First

It’s nearly impossible to leave the perfect bubble of Wil’s apartment (and the cloud couch), but after another movie (Charade with Audrey Hepburn and Cary Grant), Wil drives me and my gown from the gala home.

“I’ll walk you up,” he says after he pulls into a parking spot.

Brianna’s not home. Moses rubs himself against my leg and hisses at Wil, then saunters back to the sofa and curls up with his back to us. Wil follows the cat into the living room, over to the large wooden bookcase that holds my books and movies. He tilts his head to read the titles.

“Gloria Steinem, Revolution from Within. Marianne Williamson, A Woman’s Worth. Kate Chopin, The Awakening. And wow, that’s a big stack of Ms. Magazine.”

“Women’s studies minor,” I explain.

“Look at all these Harlequin romances,” he muses. “You contain multitudes.”

“Glamma bequeathed me her collection. They’re perfect for days out by the pool.”

He pulls a slender paperback from the shelf. “A Candlelight Regency Special. A Convenient Bride. ‘He meant to have his cake and eat it...’ Really, Lord Ashford? Oh, and Penelope turns out to be a spirited hellcat.”

I laugh at his dramatic tone. “Do not knock my regency romances. Those heroines are badass.”

“I would never.”

“Do you read much?”

He shrugs. “Mostly biographies. Musicians, baseball players, that kind of thing.”

He moves on to the CD tower. Since I started at Hometown, I’ve purchased so many albums, the stand is full and there are two teetering stacks on the floor next to it.

“Looks like you need some new storage. You should talk to Kevin.” He leans down to pick up one of the CDs and reads the title: “MTV Buzz Bin: Volume 1.” He flips it over to read the track listing. “It’s a promo copy. Felix?”

“He dropped off a box of promos before Christmas,” I reply. “I can’t quite figure him out.”

Wil turns from the CD tower. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, it’s just a feeling I get. Like he’s a total ass-kisser but maybe he’s not kissing the right asses? Does that make sense? But let’s not talk about work. You want to see the rest of the hovel?”

I give Wil the quick tour and then he kisses me at the door. Like, kisses me. Kisses me like he never wants to let me go.

“Good night, Abbey,” he says, then runs a finger down my jawline in a gentle caress.

I crawl into bed, spent and aching and happier than I’ve ever been in my life.

I wake up in the middle of the night with a lurching stomach. I barely make it to the toilet in time before the contents of my gut burn their way up and out. I heave, again and again, and then I lie down on the floor, curled into myself, my cheek on the cold tile.

When I have enough energy to haul myself up from the floor, I rinse my mouth, run cold water over a washcloth, and crawl back to bed with it. I’m still wearing Wil’s sweatshirt, although at some point in the night, I took off his sweatpants. Now I’m cold, so I pull the plaid wool blanket up around me tight. Everything smells like Wil.

Wil. Wil kissed me. Wil gave me lots of orgasms. So many. Wil wanted me. Wants me.

I cover my eyes with the washcloth. Every bone in my body aches. I fall back asleep, still thinking of Wil.

When I wake, the big red numbers on my alarm clock read 10:06 a.m. I’m confused, wrecked, nauseous. There’s an empty ice cream bucket by my bed. I don’t remember Brianna bringing it in but I’m glad she did. I lean over and heave into it. The bucket still smells faintly of vanilla, which makes me retch again.

I somehow find the strength to take the bucket to the bathroom, flush the contents, and rinse it out. I pee and gargle with mouthwash. Then I call the store. Jeremy takes the call.

“I can’t make it in tonight,” I say, my throat scratchy and raw. “I’m sick.”

“Wow, you sound bad,” he says. “No offense.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve never called in sick before.”

I can almost hear him shrug. “Eh, it’s no biggie. Take care of yourself, and whatever you do, do not bring that to work, you hear me?”