Well, there goes that idea.
I make it back to the apartment, sliding out of my heels and dumping my shit at the door. It’s the first time since Caseymoved out last week that I’ve really felt the emptiness of the apartment. I walk to her old room and stare at the Great Wall of Heels. I wasn’t kidding when I told her I’d turn it into my second closet. The room is simple, with plain walls on either side that lead to a full-size window overlooking the city, no gaps in the shelves, save for a door that leads to a private en suite.
I walk through the room and lay myself dramatically across the large round ottoman that is placed strategically in the middle, staring up at the ceiling.
“Hi, babies,” I mumble to my emotional support heels. “Momma’s home.” Except it doesn’t feel anything like home right now.
Ugh, when did I become so lame? Between lying here on my own in a room full of shoes and leaving the bar on Fridayalonewhen there was a perfectly good guy ready to jump straight into my bed—which, granted, I got major ick when he said,Hope you’re on birth control, I want to fill you with my seed,because in all honestly, what in the fuck, Brad?—I’ve hit a new level of incredibly lame.
I tossed around the idea of heading out, but that idea just doesn’t hold any excitement right now. Hanging out with a stranger feels kind of hollow. The last time I did that ended with me coming on Icky Brad’s fingers while I made direct eye contact with Caleb—which was both hot as fuck and…strange. I am not an exhibitionist, usually, but there was something so fun and such a turn-on, watching Caleb lose his mind. He doesn’t need to know I was picturing his hands the whole time. He also doesn’t need to know that Brad ruined everything with hisseedcomment, sealing the deal on me leaving without him by saying,Bro that’s mad, you came in a bar.The memory alone gives me a full-body shiver.
And now here I am, lying down in an empty room, staring at tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of shoes after a successful day, feeling nothing but sorry for myself. Lame, lame,lame.
But…I really don’t want to celebrate this with someone who doesn’t understand it. I don’t want to kill this small sting of loneliness with someone who is just going to leave me feeling empty in the end.
Fuck it.
I pull out my phone and open the text thread.
Me:
Doing?
I scold myself immediately because now I’m sitting here waiting for a reply. I am above this. There is no way I amthisdesperate for a companion right now. I am Rosie freaking Garcia. I thrive by myself because I am a strong, badass woman and I don’t need anyone.
My phone pings.
Sex Pest:
*celebration GIF*
Me:
Forget I asked *eye roll emoji*
Sex Pest:
WAIT! JK, what are you doing?
I know I’m going to regret this, but apparently, I’ve lost my mind completely.
Me:
I’m bored. But I had a good day at work, I want to celebrate.
Sex Pest:
I can think of a few ways to celebrate *smiling devil emoji*
Me:
We aren’t fucking.
Sex Pest:
And you say I’m boring.
I try my hardest to wipe the stupid smile off my face, shaking my head when the idea to slip on my rule rolls through. “Stay strong, Rosie. Don’t let that stupid, sexed-up golden retriever ruin your resolve.”
