Ave Michaels is an out-and-proud cynical romantic who never had her heart broken (considering she has to fall in love first.)
That is until, in order to get published, she has to prove she's a versatile writer by writing a romance novel.
Throw in a...
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"In Which Reality is a Literal Climb of Shame"
(Pt. 2)
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September 14
11:53 AM (Apparently)Some Guy's Apartment, (Averill?) Earth
"Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck."
Clumsily patting on my jeans, I feel the slight bump of my phone and pull it out, ignoring the call
20 missed calls. 22 voice messages.
Shit!
I try to remember what else happened last night before I got separated from my friends, but it was like a mental barrier was blocking me.
The whole place was minimal in furniture and only contained the bare necessities, every fixture and object are organized neatly in stacks and shelves. If anything, it resembled more of a showroom* than an actual living space.
Oh great, did I just fuck someone in an open house?*
The only things that held any personal touch were a guitar leaning on a guitar stand, a vinyl record player, and a cardboard rack containing vinyl albums on a small table next to a bay window.
Reaching the French window adjacent to the foot of the bed, I open the door with little to no sound.
Okay, well a small sound. The door let out a small 'CREAK', followed by the soft click of the metallic latch.
I hold my breath and hope my (what do you even call a one-night stand? Lover? Fuck-buddy? Dick-Slut? Dick-Rental? whatever let's just call him) well-hung acquaintance was too busy snoring off into la-la-land* to hear me.
I check in behind my shoulder. Apparently, he was.
With a last lingering look, tracing his unconscious chiseled form from those steel-hard pecs and illegal packs of washboard abs, down to his massive friend (yeah, I liked the way his body looks — sue me!)I hid behind one of the brick walls.
I tap the number from my latest missed call and wait for her to pick up.
"You better have a good explanation as to why you suddenly disappeared in the middle of the night," Tia answers on the first ring, always so direct.
I wince. What? No, hi or hello, I missed you, babe?
"Hey, Tea," I whisper.
"'Hey, Tea'?" she repeats with an incredulous tone in her voice.
"Sh-h, Tea. Please, inside-voice."
"You're lucky your aunts didn't call about you last night. Papa was about to call them if we hadn't managed to hold him off," she drops her voice an octave lower, though the level of scolding remains the same.
