His Name Is Jake Saunders

I Slept With My Boss's Son!

Consider this: I'm a fairly reasonable person. I'm smart, my sensitivity and 'don't give a shit' levels are just right. I'm hard-working, strong and independent; and I'm not one of those people that shit on guys because of all of the above. So why, why, did I sleep with my boss's son?

All the neon arrows were pointed to the man strewn next to me on the bed. His back muscles were prominent through his creamy white skin, his brown hair dishevelled, his head turned away from me. Yet in all my calm, level-headed glory, I could not contain this one. I shuffled in bed, careful not to wake him up, but in my hurry and lack of coordination, my legs got caught in the sheets and I thudded ass-first on the hardwood floor. My head rattled and last night's alcohol came back to haunt me in nauseating ways. I cupped my head over scruffy hair, and remained frozen on the floor for a second. If at least one cosmic force was on my side, it would refrain me from adding throw-up-cherry on this disastrous cake.

Once I regained what control I had over my arms and legs, I started crawling on the floor until I was at the door of my room. His room? I took one quick scan; bright blue duvet; white walls with the one behind my bed patterned with a mauve neo-baroque non-woven wallpaper. Over my bed, on that patterned wall, hung miniature-sized red Chinese lamps. No one is ever too old for those. Anyway, I think we've definitely ascertained this was my room. My apartment; my place; I took him back to my place.

I took one peek at Jake on the bed. His head was turned onto its other side, but he still remained deep in sleep. I ran with it; literally. I went into the bathroom, of which on the way I saw the carnage that was our late night (i.e. dress crumpled over the sofa, Tom Ford pants on the floor, my dignity nowhere to be found, etc.), and was stricken by my reflection in the mirror. My hair was having its own Something About Mary complex, my mascara and eyeliner were dripping, and my lips were smudged with red lipstick colouring its surrounding with a clown look. This is the new Vogue: Clown Hoe ***Flawless!

Luckily for me, my straight black hair, that is actually really dark brown hair, was easy enough to manage. But my light brown eyes were tainted by an ungodly brush, so was the rest of my face. I grabbed a facial wipe and began ferociously scrubbing my face with such force I feared would bring all new meaning to au naturel.

"Shit. Shit. Fuck. Shit," I repeated like a chant. I couldn't believe I slept with my boss's son!

To be fair, he's such a hunk. He's so unbelievably hot, with his dimpled face and no-care-in-the-world attitude; his toned body; and let's not forget his amazing penis. One that could make women everywhere yield to his every command. My God, here I go again, crushing on my boss's son. I'm screwed. I'm fired. I'm definitely fired. There's no way a newbie like me could get away with sleeping with her boss's son in the first week.

After basically peeling my epidermal layer off from all the scrubbing and took a minute to calm my skin down from its redness, I went back into my room. I slipped into my underwear and a T-shirt, and then stood before Jake on his side of the bed. I bit my lip, beginning to feel a warmth that was all too familiar. Damn he looked so good!

I was so freaked out. So worried about what he'd think of me. He worked in the same building as me, and, if I somehow managed to keep my job, I didn't want our office dynamics to get all weird. Nor did I want anyone else to find out.

I summoned whatever courage I had left over, and gently shook Jake out of his dreaming haze...