Page 35 of Stay Wild Darlin’

I rolled over and instantly regretted everything.

My dress was still on, wrinkled and bunched around my hips. My thighs were sticky. My head was splitting in two. The second my brain caught up, the memories came flooding back—his hand on my leg, the way I touched myself after, the sound of his name falling from my lips like a fucking plea.

“Fuck,” I whispered, dragging the pillow over my face.

How the hell was I ever going to face him?

I forced myself out of bed, the regret clinging to my skin like sweat. I peeled off my dress, tossed it in the corner, and stepped into the shower. The hot water hit my shoulders, and I let it run down my body, scrubbing away the dried slick between my thighs.

When I stepped out, everything felt a little less chaotic. Not good, but manageable.

Wrapped in a towel, I padded into the bedroom and started unpacking boxes—mostly to keep my hands busy. The room was still new, still unfamiliar, but already starting to feel like mine.

The new rug softened the hardwood. Plants sat in mismatched pots on the windowsill. The bed was a mess of eight hundred pillows. Little knickknacks were scattered across the shelves—small things that made it feel more like home than a temporary stop.

I fluffed the pillows, straightened the comforter, and looked around.

It was cozy.

A little sanctuary I didn’t know I needed.

My stomach let out a vicious growl. Acid churned in my gut, warning me that if I didn’t get water and food in me, I was going to be sick.

I sighed and went to get dressed, opting for a pair of biker shorts, a sports bra, and a cropped hoodie.

When I finished getting dressed, I opened the bedroom door slowly, heart pounding like he might somehow be standing right there, arms crossed, ready to talk about everything I was definitely not ready to talk about.

The living room was empty, and I let out a long breath of relief.

Thank God.

The house was quiet, but there was fresh coffee in the pot and a folded piece of paper sitting on the kitchen table. I walked over, brow furrowing, and picked it up.

My name was scribbled across the front.

We’re at Kline’s house. Address below.

Stop by if you want. Not work-related.

—D.

Next to the note were my car keys.

I stared at them for a second, stomach fluttering.

Someone must’ve brought my car back. I exhaled sharply and looked down at the address again.

If it wasn’t work-related . . . I didn’t have to go.

There was no pressure in his words, only an invitation. After last night? After what I did? What if somehow he could tell what happened after he’d left the room?

I hovered over my phone, tempted to text Fable. I sighed, locking the screen instead. I didn’t know her well enough yet.

So I opened social media instead.

My favorite group popped up right away. I clicked into the “Daily Dump Thread,” scrolled past the memes and Monday morning chaos, and typed:

Okay. Hypothetical.