Andrew groans and rubs the balls of his hands over his eyes. He rolls his head to the side and cracks his eyes open. I take it as a plus that he doesn’t look horrified when he sees me lying there. “Hey,” he says in a hoarse voice.
“Hey.”
He rubs his eyes again. “How are you doing? Are you okay?”
Aside from the sinking feeling in my chest, I’m great. “I’m okay. Are you okay?”
He tries to sit up in bed and fails. His head drops against the pillow. “I think I’m hungover. Christ, how much did we drink?”
He drank far more than I did. But I am more of a lightweight, so it hit me just as hard. “Two bottles of wine.”
“I…” His brow scrunches up. “Are we okay?”
“We’re fine.” I manage a smile. “Completely fine. I promise.”
He tries a second time to sit up, wincing at the pain in his head. But this time he makes it. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have…”
I flinch at his apology. “Don’t worry about it.” My voice sounds clipped and I clear my throat. “I’ll go take a shower. We should probably head back home.”
“Yeah…” He heaves a sigh. “You won’t say anything to Nina, right? I mean, we were both really drunk and…”
Of course. That’s all he cares about. “I won’t.”
“Thanks. Thanks so much.”
I’m naked under the blankets, but I don’t want him to see me that way. I grab one of the sheets from the bed and wrap it around myself as I climb out of the bed and stumble in the direction of the bathroom. I can feel Andrew’s eyes on me, but I don’t turn to look at him. It’s humiliating.
“Millie?”
I still can’t look. “What?”
“I’m not sorry,” he says. “I had a great time with you last night, and I’m not sorry for any part of it. And I hope you’re not either.”
I venture a look at him. He is still in bed, the covers up to his waist, revealing his bare, muscular chest. “No, I’m not sorry at all.”
“But…” He heaves a sigh. “It can’t happen again. You know that, right?”
I nod. “Yes, I understand.”
A troubled expression comes over his face. He runs a hand through his dark hair to smooth it out. “I wish things could be different.”
“I know.”
“I wish I’d met you back when…”
He doesn’t have to complete his sentence. I know what he’s thinking. If only we had met back when he was still single. He could have walked into the bar where I was waiting tables, our eyes would have met, and when he asked me for my number, I would have given it to him. But that’s not the situation. He’s married. He’s a father. Nothing more can happen between the two of us.
“I know,” I say again.
He keeps his eyes on me, and for a moment, I wonder if he’s going to ask if he can join me in the shower. After all, we’ve already desecrated this hotel room. What’s one more time? But he behaves himself. He turns away from me, pulls up the covers, and I go take my cold shower.
TWENTY-EIGHT
We hardly talk during the drive back to the Island—Andrew turns on the radio and we listen to the DJ’s mindless chatter. It occurs to me that he mentioned a meeting later in the city, so he’s going to have to turn right back around soon after we get home. But the journey is not entirely for me. He is still wearing the same clothing he was wearing yesterday, and I’m sure he wants to change into a new suit before showing up at his meeting.
“Almost back,” he mumbles, when we exit the Long Island Expressway. He’s got on a pair of sunglasses, making his expression impossible to read.
“Great.”
My dress is riding up yet again—this damn dress is what caused all our problems. I tug at it, and even with his shades on, I can’t help but notice Andrew is looking again. I raise my eyebrows at him and he smiles sheepishly. “One more for the road.”
As we’re driving down a residential block, he swerves to get around a garbage truck. And that’s when a horrible thought occurs to me.
“Andrew,” I hiss. “I never put out the garbage last night!”
“Oh…”
He doesn’t seem to quite be understanding the gravity of the situation. “Nina specifically texted me to put out the trash last night. I never did it because I wasn’t home. I’ve never forgotten before. If she finds out…”