I’m so focused on showering that I only realize I don’t have a change of clothes until after I’ve dried myself off. Well, besides the pink pajamas Celeste gave me last night. Which I definitely am not wearing now.

After a few panicked seconds of trying to figure out what to do, I wrap the wet towel around me and exit the bathroom.

Celeste’s awake by the time I walk back into her room. She’s always been a light sleeper, so the sound of the shower must have woken her up. Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she gives me an amused look as she says, “Well, good morning. It’s still early. I can make us breakfast if you want?”

She sounds so relaxed, like it’s perfectly normal for me to be in her bedroom like this. Like it’s normal for us to have fucked last night, instead of it being the first time we did so in eight years. It’s like “casual” is her middle name.

How is she so good at this? I want to growl in frustration as I think back to poor Gretchen throwing up in the restroom.

“Thanks, but I should head home,” I say, keeping my tone light and airy. Two can play this game. “Happy New Year!”

I walk back to the kitchen and grab my ugly Christmas sweater from the floor.

Still completely naked, Celeste rolls over so she’s propped up on her elbows. Her long legs in the air behind her, she stares at me with those gorgeously dark eyes of hers.

A puzzled expression scrunches up her face before smoothing out into acceptance.

“Gem,” she says. “Let me at least lend you a change of clothes so you don’t have to wear what you wore yesterday. Like what you did for me last time.”

Borrowing a change of clothes from Celeste would mean that I’d have to smell like her again. I’m about to tell her no thanks, when her face lights up with an idea.

“Oh, I still have that shirt you let me borrow last time,” she says. “I washed it for you and everything. Let me go get it.”

She gets up from the bed, and I get a full, unavoidable view of her bare chest. How the heck did I sleep with those breasts pressed up against me for the entire night?

I want to ask her if she can put some clothes on, but also, if I’m being honest with myself, I kind of don’t.

She fishes out my shirt from the closet and hands it to me. I sniff it warily and breathe a small sigh of relief when it smells like generic, citrusy laundry detergent.

I gladly put it on.