When I woke up the next morning, I was in my own bed. Carter was next to me, stretched out on top of the covers, jeans on, a pillow squashed underneath his head. I rolled over carefully and did a self-assessment.
Foul taste in my mouth? Yep.
A little sweaty underneath the hot blankets? Oh yeah.
Knot in my stomach? Gone.
Shame of my actions? Nonexistent.
Hmmm. I felt brave enough to prop up on my elbows and look around. I was pretty certain, given his full dress and … I peeked under the covers … my own jeans and top, that we didn't have sex. Or get even close to it, sadly. I closed my eyes and tried to remember more. The memory came fuzzy through the grip of a headache.
I'd told Carter about me and Vic. Then, I'd vomited. Apologized while … crawling to the bathroom? I winced and the man next to me rolled over. Opened his eyes and saw me, looking at him.
"Chloe." He sat up and rubbed his face. "Good morning."
"I slept with Vic. In Joey Plazen's trailer." It was like my vomit from last night. It wouldn't stop repeatedly coming out.
He smiled. "Yes. I know. You mentioned that, several times, last night."
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"And you're OK with that?"
He shrugged. "It's over. Right?"
Was it over? I smiled and nodded. "Yes. Definitely." The words sounded much more sure that I was. I was sure that I wanted it to be over. What I wasn't as confident about was if it actually was over.
"So then why wouldn't I be OK with it?"
"Well…" I kicked off a tangle of sheets. "It was after we hooked up. Some guys, that would bother them." It would have definitely bothered Vic.
"It's fine." He reached for me but I stopped him. Mainly because I was pretty sure my morning breath was horrific. But also because he was so casual about this that it was raising my own questions.
"Do you have someone like that? An ex that is still … around?"
"You mean, like Presa?" he raised his eyebrows and I fidgeted with the edge of the sheet. "Before that show, I hadn't seen Presa in months."
Months. I would have preferred years. "Anyone else?" The memory of the cute little brunette he'd been palling around with a few weeks ago — Brit — came to mind.
"Someone who gives me gifts that cost hundreds of thousands of dollars and drags me into isolated places for impromptu sex?" he shook his head with a smile. "No."
"I'm serious." I turned to face him, my eyes catching on the clock. "Do you?"
"No." He pulled at the front of my shirt and I was forced into a kiss. "I don't."
"Vic and I are over." I said the sentence a second time, because surely that would make it true.
"Maybe you should tell him that." He said it simply, without an edge to the words, but they still cut me to the bone. I couldn't think of anything I'd rather do less.
"I don't know…" I stood up and headed to the bathroom, beelining for my toothbrush.
"Chloe." There was enough command in his voice to cause me to look over. "Speaking as a man who has, at one point in time, been hopelessly in love with a woman, you need to tell him."
I frowned and it was more over his comment than the prospect of speaking with Vic. "Who was this hopelessly lovable woman?"
He stepped closer and pressed a kiss on my forehead, his eyes meeting mine in the bathroom mirror. "No worries. She couldn't hold a candle to you."
I rolled my eyes at the sentiment but felt a burst of well-needed confidence.
"Talk to him." He pushed the subject and I looked away from the mirror, full concentration on applying my toothpaste to my toothbrush in a proper manner.
"OK?" he poked me and I looked up with a snarl.
"Fine." I stuck the toothbrush in my mouth, scowled at him, and the conversation was over. My anxiety, on the other hand, was spiking at a ridiculous pace.
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