Writing's Second Taste

Extra Three: Let Go

I woke up to the sun literally blaring on my face. Alright, next time, I should really close the windows. I turned to my side in order to get that brightness out of my face and felt around for a nice comfy pillow to hug.

When my hand felt something, it started to move. I may be tired, but I knew for sure that pillows weren't sentient.

My eyes cracked open and I had to stop myself from gaping when Adam's sleeping face was literally inches away from me.

Oh right, I didn't go home last night. I stayed in his hotel.

I pushed myself up into a sitting position, running a hand through the scraggly blonde mess that was known as my hair. I sighed and got out of the bed, but I made sure to pull the covers over his body so he wouldn't get cold. Releasing a deep yawn, I walked into the bathroom and observed myself in the mirror, hoping that I wasn't in too much of a mess.

You could say I was gravely disappointed.

I didn't take off my makeup so it was smudge city, my hair was a tumbleweed on top of my head, and I simply looked exhausted. From where I was standing, I could still see my clothes neatly folded inside the closet through the open door.

Adam graciously lent me his shirt and a pair of boxer shorts to change into so I wouldn't be stuck in jeans. I attempted to redo my makeup with whatever was in my bag and I pulled my hair into a bun just to mask how much of a wreck it was. I used one of the spare disposable toothbrushes that the hotel provided because there was no way in hell was I leaving with morning breath.

I fished around the room for my phone and I finally found it on one of the couches. When I lit up the screen to check for any notifications, my eyes bulged out at the time displayed, "I'm late!"

Right, work.

I grabbed a pillow and hit poor Adam with it in attempts to wake him up, "Adam, get up! I'm late for work!"

Looks like I was going to wear the exact same thing as last night. Gosh, the walk of shame.

Well, technically we didn't have sex so was it still the walk of shame?

"Adam!" I yelled, finally stirring him up. I had already gotten out of the boxer shorts and into my pants.

He opened one eye to look at me and I paused in my movement when he shot me a tired and lazy smile, "Good morning."

How can he look so fantastic just after waking up? His hair was disheveled, his eyes half open, his smile was leaning onto one side so it made it look like he was flashing me a smirk. Everything in me was trying to calm me down because if I lose control, I would definitely jump on his bones.

Focus, Gracie, you have work.

"I really need to go," I told him, snapping right out of my train of thoughts before I fully swooned at his features.

When I made the move to grab the blouse I wore yesterday, he shocked me by speaking in such a low and husky tone, "You can borrow one of my white button ups. Just tuck it in or tie the bottom."

"God, do you have any idea how much you saved me with that idea," I said, opening the closet and snatching one that was on a hanger. I changed into inside the bathroom and when I got out, he was already out of bed, bent over to grab a water bottle from the minifridge.

"I'll return this when I get off work," I told him, putting on my jacket. He stood straight with his eyebrows knitted together, causing me to stop my hasty movements.

"I have to be at the airport in an hour," he reminded me about one topic of our conversation last night, his voice now low and quiet, as if he didn't want to bring it up, "I'm going to California, Gracie."