Be My One Regret

be my 1 regret / 21

NOT THAT INNOCENT.... but who is?

"I got a pocket full of sunshine' tweets loudly from my phone, and I snap my eyes open to the tune I programmed for Cleo's calls. The annoying ear worm jerks my head up from the comfort of my fluffy pillow. But a pillow that wasn't mine. Nor was the room. Which cyclones my heart beats into wide awake turmoil for passing out. The heavy strumming rattles with uncontrolled chaos in my chest shaking me completely awake like a kick to the head. Plus not helping, like at all, the song repeats in torment with another rift alerting my less than sensible half to find the damn phone and fast. 

Eyes totally wide, I flick my frantic gaze around the room searching for the discarded device. Evening hours were settled in and streams of moonlight cascade lightly thru the sheer panels hanging over the large windows. Their glass grandeur allowing every moon beam to showcase the enormity of the room. The extravagance of it's gigantic penthouse walls and floors. Boasting of money. Proudly bearing it's owner's frivolity in spending what was earned. It was not cheap...none of it. And it had all the foregone remorse that it was not mine. 

Damn it. 

Breaking into a regretful sweat, I gulp down a sour lump as the unforgiving rays bounce off the stark white walls, the sleek black furniture, and one beautifully tight, bare ass next to me on a king size bed of silvery satin sheets. My heart falls into my stomach, hard. I suck in a large breath of repenting air and curse the wretchedly unbelievable sensation of his rock hard body against mine. And the flustering memory of being in every position imaginable under that said body. With more orgasms than a 5 star rated porno could give with that said damn body. It was explosive. Different. Same. And everything in between. And I swear if there was an award for best sex ever....Tucker Jones would win. Hands down.

But still....OH MY GAWD! How many damn mimosas did I have?! What the hell. This was beyond stupid. Damn me and damn Tucker. 

And dear God, what was with my oops, I did it again? Shit. Who am I? Fucking Britney Spears?!!

Holy shit! Not cool, Fi, not cool at all. Time to leave with what dignity remains in tact. And hurry the frick up before Tucker takes that too.

With my nagging conflicted soul wagging it's judgmental finger at me, my pulse quickens and resounds heavily. Coursing savagely thru me with insurmountable regret and ringing with so many "I told you so's' in my ears that my head hurts. The sickening feeling shoves me from my warm spot next to Tucker, and I slowly slide away from his tone, hot side and slip off the edge of the bed onto the floor. I hold in my ragged breaths and pray that my own naked butt doesn't wake him. With a soft thud, I land onto the dark stained wood floor and my handbag. I scoot to the side and the leather pouch falls open with several items scattering from it's tumble. Including my phone. I send up a hallelujah to the sky that it was where it should be. But as the brilliantly bright screen flashes with another missed call from Cleo, my heart seizes, cold and scared. I blink at the whiteout of alerts and text messages covering the entire screen in my palm. It's an untamed flurry. And it jolts all my nerves, all my energy, all my everything, into a panic riddled guilt as I read hurriedly.

CLEO: WHERE ARE YOU

CLEO: BAZ CALLED

CLEO: BAZ IS HERE LOOKING FOR YOU, HE'S WORRIED

CLEO: HELLO? IT'S BEEN HOURS SINCE YOU LEFT FOR BRUNCH WITH YOUR DAD. NOW I'M WORRIED

CLEO: WHERE ARE YOU?!!!!! YOU SAID YOU WERE MEETING BAZ TONIGHT SO I'M CONFUSED WHY WE HAVEN'T SEEN YOU. PLEASE TEXT, CALL, SOMETHING, ANYTHING. I WON'T JUDGE. JUST NEED TO KNOW YOU'RE OKAY.