with the faces of loved ones.
Feeling awkward as I waited for Whitney to finish her phone call, I figured I should get dressed. I hadn’t been lying when I said I’d like a glass of water. My throat was bone dry, and my legs were a little wobbly after the sex marathon. Well, maybe not a marathon, but it sure as hell felt like it.
I pulled on my boxers and the T-shirt I had been wearing on the plane. I gave the pits a quick sniff and promptly dropped it on the floor. No way I was putting it back on. I scanned the room and saw a grey T-shirt about my size over the back of the overstuffed chair in the corner. Not thinking much about it, I put it on and quietly walked out to the living room.
Whitney’s apartment was small. Tiny even. It had a bedroom, a bathroom, and a room that served as a living room and kitchen combined. There was a balcony that overlooked a parking lot, big enough for two plastic chairs and a wilted plant.
It was obvious Whitney wasn’t much of a neat freak. In fact, she bordered on slob. I could see dishes piled in the sink, cabinets open, and what looked like cereal spilled on the counter. The small, circular coffee table was covered in magazines mostly of the Glamour and Cosmopolitan variety. Shoes, socks, and random shirts were all over the floor. Discarded potato chip packets and boxes of snack cakes were piled precariously on one arm of the two-seater couch.
I kicked a pair of gym shorts out of the way as I made my way to the kitchen. Whitney was standing at the sliding glass doors that led to the balcony, her back to me. Her head was bent, and she was talking so low I could barely hear her.
I didn’t want to be the creepy guy eavesdropping on her conversation, so I quickly went to the sink and filled a glass with water as quietly as possible. I glanced over to Whitney, but she hadn’t turned my way, clearly not aware I was in the room.
Figuring she was talking shop, I started to walk back to the bedroom to wait for her when I came up short.
“I’m so wet for you, baby. I always am,” she purred into the phone.
What the fuck?
Not caring if I was being invasive, I listened closely to her side of the conversation. And the more I heard, the more my heart sank.
“You upset me earlier. I thought we were going to spend the weekend together. You promised.” Her tone was playful, but with an undercurrent of hurt that was easy to spot. Then she giggled. “Mmm, I can’t wait.” She sounded aroused. I should know, I thought I had heard the same tone in her voice only a few minutes ago.
“Are you sure? You said earlier—” She was rubbing the back of her neck. She seemed tense but excited. “Okay, give me a few minutes to get my stuff together, and I’ll be right over.” She giggled. “I miss you too, baby. Not too much longer.” A pause. “I love you.”
I all but ran back to her bedroom, feeling like I was going to throw up.
When Whitney kissed me, I naively thought we were on the same page. Three sex romps later, and I believed that this was the start of something special between us. That our time had finally come.
Clearly, that wasn’t the case. She was obviously involved with someone else. Not just involved, but seriously involved. She told them she loved them.
Again, what the fuck?
Then why had she slept with me?
What was going on?
And more importantly, how could I have so misjudged Whitney?
I sat down on the bed, not sure what I should do. Should I confront her? I wasn’t exactly a confrontational kind of guy. Even though I was tall and broad and had the physique of a linebacker, I wasn’t confident. I wasn’t the bravado type. I was the fall in love deeply and forever kind of man.
And that had just bitten me on the ass.
I braced my elbows on my knees, covering my face with my hands. I had gone from the top of the world to rock bottom in five minutes.
I heard the door to the bedroom open, and I looked up at Whitney. She shot me a vague smile, not quite meeting my eyes. She pulled a dress out of the closet—one of the tiny ones