ADRIENNE
Sunlight warms my bare breasts as I yawn in complete and utter exhaustion and satisfaction. I had some of the best sex of my life last night. The kind that raunchy R&B groups sing about. The kind that almost makes me want to rent Jason out and show all of my friends what they’re missing. The kind that makes me think about crazy stuff, like how much it would cost to throw a wedding in Bali. The kind that makes me want to go at it again, right this very minute.
I feel the other side of the bed with my palm and it’s cold. Jason isn’t here and evidently hasn’t been in bed for a while. For just a moment, I panic. I wonder if perhaps he got what he wanted from me and left, or if the intensity of our lovemaking frightened him away because if I’m going to be honest, that shit was scary. Scary good. He chased away any bad juju I thought this bed or bedroom would have forever.
I’ve spent most of my adult life believing that either something was wrong with me or that people were lying. Sex has never been fantastic or life changing for me. It’s just been something I did when I was in a serious relationship with a man because that’s what you do, right? Sure, the foreplay was nice and being held afterwards was always lovely, but the actual act was anticlimactic.
Last night was different.
Last night was a freakin’ erogenous zone masterclass. Jason taught me things about my body that I didn’t know, and I’m a damn doctor. And the awesome thing about it was that he never made me feel silly or uncomfortable or inept. In fact, all that I felt last night was adored and orgasmic and powerful.
I grab my cell to see if maybe my new sex sensei left me a text explaining his sudden disappearance and audibly gasp at how many missed calls I have.
Twenty-four missed calls over the last hour and none of them are from work? Most of the calls are from numbers I don’t recognize, but the last caller I do and he had the nerve to leave a message.
“Why aren’t you picking up the phone, Adrienne? Are you with him right now? Are you fucking him right now? Is this your revenge? He’s using you. Call me back right fucking now!”
It’s Troy, and he sounds like a complete lunatic. I definitely dodged a bullet when he decided to blow up our relationship into tiny little bits. I’m not even going to dignify his irate voice message with a response. He’s just trying to get a reaction from me because Jason tossed him out on his ass last night, but I will not give him one.
My phone rings again, but this time it’s Dena. I’m sure she’s calling to ask me how the second date went so she can check in with Caroline.
“Hey, I–”
“Adrienne!”
“What?”
“Oh my bejeezus, Adrienne!”
“What?!”
“Don’t play stupid with me.”
“I’m not playing dumb. What’s wrong with you, nutball?”
“What’s wrong is that my best friend is on every gossip blog on the planet and I’m the last to know. Seriously, A, it’s embarrassing. Everyone’s asking me for details and I don’t even have a clue what they’re talking about.”
“Dena, I need you to take a breath and explain yourself.”
“Oh ok, so this is how you’re going to play it? All cool and shit.”
“You’ve known me long enough to know that I don’t play games. Hell, I don’t even know how to play games. So cut the crap and just tell me what you’re accusing me of?”
“I’m accusing you of being a really rotten friend and not giving me all the tea about your dates. I’m the one that hooked it up! How dare you not tell me that Caroline arranged for you to date the quarterback of The New York Nighthawks! You and Jett freaking Caraway are all over social media. ”
“You’re mistaken, best friend.” Her accusation is hilarious. “I’m dating a starving artist named Jason.”
“No, Boo, you’re dating a millionaire named Jason Jett Caraway. Woo-hoo!” She exclaims. “You really hit the jackpot with that one, A. Talk about leveling up.”
My stomach churns with disappointment.
What Dena’s saying sounds so ridiculous yet makes complete sense. The constant stares. Jason’s major injury. The out-of-the-way restaurants that gave us the best service I’ve ever seen. The flower bouquets that even I couldn’t afford. The intricate tattoo of a jet plane in flight on his back.
Jett.
He lied to me.
That mother humper lied to me.
“I’ll call you back.”
I hang up on Dena and open all of my social media Apps. I’m not even sure what I’m looking for, but I remember what Dena said and type the search term, New York Nighthawks.
And that’s when I see it.
The first thing that comes up on my feed is a picture of Jason and me from last night in front of my apartment building hauling the television set inside. They conveniently cropped the Uber driver, who helped us out of the picture. Under the photograph is a caption that reads:
Jason Jett Caraway and Mystery Woman Moving In Together?
It’s a simple enough click-bait headline, but the story which follows is another matter. It basically suggests that his “affair” with me may be the reason why an entire football team is not winning this season.
Holy crap.
I’m startled out of my daze when the phone rings again and it’s my cousin Carline. She’s a cousin on my father’s side of the family, and the two of us don’t normally chat. In fact, I haven’t seen her since the last Hodges family wedding. The only reason she would be calling me is because she knows something about this and wants to confirm that this picture is the real deal. I ignore the call but notice a new text from her.
Carline: Is that my little cousin making out with a baller from the Nighthawks? WOW! Can you get me tickets to a game and does he have a friend?
If she knows about this headline, my entire family knows, which means that it won’t be long before my mother decides to call and that’s not a conversation I’m looking forward to having. Can you imagine?
Are you dating a football player now, hun?
Oh no, Mom, I just fucked him all night to help eradicate the memories of Troy fucking another woman in my house.
Yeah, this is a certifiable nightmare.
I just spread my legs for another liar, and now the entire world knows. I’m a total book smart but not street smart cliche. I look like a complete idiot.
I guess I have my answer on where he’s disappeared to. He probably saw my phone blowing up and got out of dodge fast. The jerk didn’t even have the decency to stay and man up to his deception.
I can’t believe I thought he was destitute.
I was going to help him apply for a series of grants the hospital gives to surgical candidates who need financial help.
Am I the most naïve woman who walked the earth?
I click on a hyperlink of Jason’s name and am redirected to another article. This one is more thorough and less gossipy. It gives details about his career, including his illustrious time playing in college and his accomplishments and troubles in the NFL. It also lists some celebrities he’s dated (including one of the Kardashians) and his net worth, which is a little over… sixty-two million dollars?!
My phone slips from my hand and drops to the floor.
I’m in shock.
What was a millionaire ball player doing in my bed last night? What probable motive could he have for sleeping with me when he can have any woman he wants? The answer is simple. There is no complicated motive or goal. I was a warm body, for one night, for one cold-blooded asshole.
That’s it, and that’s all.
My nude body shivers, but not from the temperature of the room, but because I’m incensed. I’m almost hyperventilating under the weight of my covers when I hear the lock on the front door click open.
It can’t be him.
It better not be him.
Where the hell is my baseball bat?