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The Breakaway(47)

Author:Jennifer Weiner

“Of course,” he’d said, and made himself give her a smile. “No problem.” She’d fallen asleep, and he’d lain awake beside her, barely daring to move or to breathe, worried that he’d wake her up and she’d want Round Two. He must have drifted off at some point, because in the morning he’d woken to the sound of female humming, and the smell of frying bacon and toasting bread.

Oh, no, he’d thought. Not good. He’d faked sleep until he’d heard Alyssa cooing his name from her perch on the side of his bed. She had put on one of his tee shirts, which hung loosely over her torso, almost down to her knees, and she’d put on makeup and done something to her hair. There was a tray with plates of eggs and toast and steaming mugs of coffee, along with a glass carafe of orange juice and a pair of paper napkins, waiting at the foot of the bed. Sebastian had squinted at the tray and the carafe, puzzled. Since when did he own such items? Was it possible this girl had shown up at the bar with them in her purse?

“Hey,” Sebastian had said. His voice had been gravelly. He’d cleared his throat and started again. “Hey. Wow. This looks great. I wish I could hang out, but, like I said, I’ve really got to get going. I’ve got somewhere to be this morning. A reporting assignment.”

“But it’s Sunday,” Alyssa had said, pouting prettily.

“I’m sorry,” he had said. “I had a great time hanging out with you. But I’ve got a lot of work to get to.”

Alyssa looked down at the tray. “You could at least eat your eggs,” she’d said in a very small voice. Fuck. Sebastian hated feeling like the bad guy. He’d grabbed a fork, pushed a mouthful of eggs between his lips, chewed and swallowed and chased the eggs with a gulp of coffee hot enough to scald his tongue.

Great, he had thought. “Delicious,” he had said. “I’m sorry. Look. I’ve got to get going, but you can stay if you want to. I really feel bad about this…”

Alyssa’s smile had wavered a bit. “No. I’ll go. I understand. Just give me a minute.” She’d vanished into the bathroom. He had carried his plate back into the kitchen, scraped the food into the trash can, and gulped down the rest of his coffee. Then he’d waited, fidgeting, making himself sip ice water until, finally, Alyssa had reappeared, wearing the dress she’d worn the night before, which was navy blue and had skinny straps that left most of her shoulders and lots of her chest bare. “I guess it’s walk-of-shame time.” Her voice was light, but her smile had looked strained. “Well,” she had said, with a brittle smile. “See you around.”

“See ya,” he’d mumbled, reminding himself, again, that he hadn’t done anything wrong.

She had slung her purse over her shoulder and turned away. She’d had her hand on the doorknob, and he’d thought he was finally in the clear. Then she’d turned around.

“You know,” she had begun. Her voice had been pleasant, but Sebastian had spent enough time around women to sense a storm on the way. “You could at least say thank you. I got up early. I made you breakfast.”

I didn’t ask for that, Sebastian had thought, but he knew not to say it. He might be an idiot, but he wasn’t a complete idiot.

“Thank you,” he said. “If I didn’t say it already—”

Alyssa just kept talking, rolling right over him. “I came to that disgusting bar to meet you.” Her voice had gotten louder. “I ate hot wings with you. I gave you a blow job…”

If Sebastian recalled, she’d been the one to unbutton his jeans and begin, unprompted, the trip down south. And the blow job hadn’t even been that great. There’d been lots of ticklish licking, slow swirls of her tongue, like his erection was a cone of soft-serve custard that was melting fast, along with an unsettling amount of eye contact. The whole thing had felt like a performance and as if all she cared about were her reviews. And he’d reciprocated! He always reciprocated! He might not have wanted a girlfriend, but that didn’t mean he was a lout.

“I didn’t make you do that,” he’d said.

“That’s the point! You didn’t have to ask!” Her voice had cracked as she had waved her hands at the ceiling. “I gave you head, and I made you eggs. I did everything right,” she had said, and started to cry.

Sebastian felt his body sag. Women’s tears were the one thing he couldn’t handle; the one thing he couldn’t stand. He approached Alyssa the same way he would have sidled up to a tiger in a zoo that had somehow gotten out of its cage, and he tried, ever so gently, to pat her back.

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