NEPO BBY

36

The following day, I woke up naked inside Carmen's bed, the remnants of last night's escapades flooding my mind like a chaotic torrent. Sunlight streamed through the partially drawn curtains, casting warm rays that felt almost intrusive against my skin, causing me to squint and instinctively cover my eyes. A wave of nausea crashed over me, and I groaned softly. The unmistakable throb of a hangover pulsated at my temples, a dull, persistent reminder of the revelry that had danced too close to debauchery.

I could hear the soft rustle of sheets and the gentle sounds of Carmen stirring beside me, and as she turned to face me, our gazes locked. At that moment, the weight of unspoken memories hung thick between us—flashes of laughter whispered secrets in dimly lit corners and the reckless abandon that had led us here.

"Hi," I managed to utter a hoarse whisper.

Carmen's response was immediate, a light laugh that escaped her lips and erupted into a muffled sound as she buried her face into the pillow, her dark hair tumbling about in a wild halo around her. Her laughter was infectious, a spark of levity in the awkwardness, and it warmed me from within, yet I couldn't shake the discomfort of the situation—a cocktail of embarrassment and the realization that perhaps we had crossed a line that could no longer be uncrossed.

The morning light illuminated the room, revealing the scattered remnants of our wild night—the clothes haphazardly discarded and the faint scent of perfume and sweat hanging in the air—as I wrestled with the implications of what had just transpired. Would this change everything between us? I couldn't help but wonder if we were still on solid ground or if we had inadvertently stepped into uncharted territory, each heartbeat echoing the uncertainty that loomed just beneath the surface of our morning-after smiles.

Camren's warm, naked body curled up against mine, and I held her tightly to my chest as we lay in the bed, enveloped in the soft sheets. The moment's tranquility wrapped around us like a comforting blanket, creating a cocoon where the outside world felt miles away, and all that mattered was the rhythm of our breaths, synchronized in the stillness. Eventually, the silence became too heavy, prompting us to stir beneath the sheets.

With a gentle sigh, I brushed a strand of hair away from her face and watched as her eyes met mine. We reluctantly got out of bed, our limbs tangled momentarily before we found our footing, and began rummaging through the chaos of yesterday's clothes strewn across the room. The act of dressing felt strangely intimate, the way our fingers occasionally brushed against each other as we pulled garments over our bodies, each piece a fragment of the night we'd just shared.

I finally dialed for an Uber to take me back to the penthouse, the reality of the mundane seeping into our blissful bubble. As we approached the door, I could feel a bittersweet twinge in the pit of my stomach, not wanting the magic of the morning to dissipate just yet. Camren walked me out, her voice breaking the comfortable silence as she turned to me with a playful smile. "Call me," she said, and at that moment, it felt like an unspoken promise hung in the air between us, a silent commitment to keep the connection alive beyond this fleeting encounter, a whisper of hope that perhaps this was just the beginning of something beautifully complicated.

As soon as I got home, I called Carmen.

"Hey," she said through the other end of the phone.

"Hi there," I cooed back, feeling a rush of warmth at the sound of her voice. I could hear her smile from across the line, lighting up my day.

"You wanted me to call," I prompted, fully aware of the weightiness of the topic looming over us.

"I did," she replied, a hint of hesitation in her tone that piqued my curiosity.

"I assume you want to talk about what happened last night," I ventured, knowing that avoidance was no longer an option for us.

"Something like that," she responded softly. "I don't want to complicate things, Jack."

A chuckle escaped me despite the seriousness of the situation. "I think we've already done that, Carmen," I countered, my mind racing through the tangled web we had woven.

"I'm serious," she insisted, and I could visualize her brows furrowing in concern.

"So let's not overcomplicate things. Let's just keep going about things the way we are, letting whatever happens happen. Nobody has to know what we do behind closed doors besides us."

The thrill of her touch, those shared whispered moments, was seared into my memory, and after getting just a tiny taste of her, I was hopelessly hooked. The thought of walking away, of erasing the spark that had ignited between us, was unbearable.

"Carmen," I replied, my voice steady but filled with an undercurrent of urgency, "we can't just pretend it didn't happen. Whatever it was—however complicated it is—it's real, and I can't just move on like nothing happened. I don't want to throw away what we have."