Dirty Love Romance

“Okay,” he says, but doesn’t move.

He knows I’m asking him to move in a roundabout way, but he’s playing with me and refuses to budge. Pressing my lips together, I push past him. Our bodies rub together and my arm, where our skin touches, feels as though it’s been set ablaze. I shiver. I’m utterly confused by my body’s reaction to him. I bump into people at the mall and grocery store all the time, but it never feels like that.

I grab my phone and step away as fast as I can. When I look at him, he’s staring at me with a strange look on his face, a mixture of curiosity and confusion. I wonder if he felt it too, that spark between us. I try to brush it off as static, but I’m not so sure that was it.

Unlocking my phone, I look at my texts. First I look at the texts Gina sent last night. She’d asked me if I wanted Ram’s number in case I was interested in his services. I told her I wasn’t, but she gave me his phone number just in case I changed my mind. I guess when I got drunk enough, I changed my mind. I roll my eyes. I’m the worst drunk person ever.

Next I check on my texts to Evan. Thank fuck and all that’s holy I didn’t text Evan too … oh God, no. No, no, no. Panic rips through me when I see that, no, I didn’t text Evan’s personal cell phone: I texted his work phone. With shaking hands, I open the text next to the company name and nearly scream when I see a picture of me in my pink bra and panties, the same ones I woke up in this morning. There’s no reply from Evan, but there’s a little icon in the corner saying it’s been read. Fuck. Fuck my life.

I’m going to throw up. How can this be happening? I’ll have to move out of town, join a traveling carnival, or get plastic surgery to alter my appearance. I’m not even joking—maybe I’m being dramatic, but I’m definitely not joking. I’m going to be the only person in recorded human history to actually die from humiliation.

“You all right?” Ram says.

I look up at him. The skin between his eyes knits with concern. I have no words so I just nod my head.

Since this day can’t possibly get much worse, I look at the texts between me and Ram and the blood rushes to my face, my cheeks blazing.

Cum ovr an fuk me. I wrote that… Oh look, I sent more pictures. The same ones I sent Evan. Real fucking nice. I wonder how many other people I sent them to. I’m such an incredible idiot. Well, at least they weren’t nudes. That’s the only ray of light shining through this shit storm.

God, Ram must think I’m pathetic after writing that. But, to be fair, he showed up after those texts, so I might not be the only asshole in the room.

Glancing up at Ram, he stares back me, and looks like he’s about to crack up.

“You look a little embarrassed,” he says.

I fill my lung until they hurt and hold my breath. Maybe if I hold it in long enough, I’ll pass out and won’t have to sit through this humiliation any longer.

“I am,” I say, the breath rushing out with my words.

His smile deepens the lines around his mouth. Those lines seem to be a permanent fixture on his face, which means he must smile a lot. “I don’t know if you’re embarrassed enough, though,” he says thoughtfully.

“Oh my God,” I say, blanching. “How bad was it?”

He shrugs. “Pretty bad.”

My throat goes dry and I try to swallow. “What did I do?”

“Do you mean aside from trying to rip my shirt off and grab my dick?”

“Oh. My. God.”

My eyes involuntarily flicker to the front of his pants before I close them and count to ten. When I open them again, his shoulders are shaking and he’s fighting back laughter.

“I can’t believe I did that,” I say, trying to avert my gaze so I look everywhere but his package that, since he mentioned it, sits at the forefront of my mind. “Did we …”

His smile wanes. “No. You were drunk.”

“That wouldn’t have stopped most guys.”

“I’m not most guys,” he says, the humor gone from his voice.

I feel sick. This is so embarrassing, and it gets worse the longer he stays here. “Maybe you should go,” I tell him. I can’t bear to look at him so I turn away. “I have to take Hercules for his walk.”

“I need to get to work anyway,” he says. “Enjoy the pancakes.”

I listen to his footsteps as he walks away, and when I hear the click of the door behind him, I release the stale air from my lungs. When he’s gone, I look at the food on the stove. It smells amazing and I’m starving. I make myself a plate and sit down. I’m so stupid. I can’t believe what I did. At least I’ll never see him again. This is a small town, but it’s big enough that I don’t have to worry about running into people I don’t want to see. At least not that often, anyway.

I take a bite of the pancakes and melt. They’re delicious. Perfect hangover food.

There are four things I’ve learned about Ram in the short period of time he’s been in my apartment—or at least since I’ve been conscious: He’s gorgeous, knows how to cook, didn’t take advantage of me while I was drunk, and he has earned the nickname ‘Bed Shaker.’ The tickle between my legs makes me think that maybe I was a little hasty kicking him out.