“Hi. I’m so sorry. I thought you were someone else. I mean, obviously I didn’t think it was you. Why would I think it was you? And if I did think it was you I wouldn’t have offered you ice cream, I just wouldn’t have opened the door.” My eyes feel like they are going to pop out of my head and I slap my hand across my mouth. “That’s not what I meant! I would’ve opened the door, I just wouldn’t have offered ice cream.”

Stone-cold sober and still suffering from drunk mouth. What did I think was going to happen yesterday? I brought this on myself.

“Are you okay?” He sounds concerned, but even though his beard hides some of his amusement, it’s for sure still there. I’m pretty sure he’s about to laugh at me.

And maybe that’ll be the icebreaker before he tells me I’m:

A. Fired

B. Having charges brought against me

C. Facing a public shaming for my abhorrent behavior

D. All of the above

It will be like a trifecta of shame.

I ignore his question because I’m very obviously not fucking okay. I’m a literal disaster and I will not humor him. I refuse.

“Umm, so . . .” I look over his shoulder for a stern man in a suit lingering behind him with a restraining order and let out a sigh of relief when I don’t see one. Good sign. “Do you want to come in or something?”

“Yeah, that’d probably be good.”

“Welcome, then.” I scoot over and motion into my modest home.

He walks inside. Even in a Mustangs sweatshirt and matching sweatpants, his long, confident strides seem out of place in my little condo. Even though I really like his Afro fade, the orange beanie he’s wearing looks good on him. All of this makes me even more furious for kissing him.

Before last night, I could mask my appreciation for his physical attributes with a roll of my eyes or a quick question. He never would’ve suspected a thing. But now? Now every time I catch his gaze, he’s probably going to panic that I’m going to launch another attack.

I just started to accept my lust and I can’t even partake in it anymore!

Life is so unfair.

I lock the door behind him, making sure my eyes absolutely do not linger on the way his ass fills out the loose sweatpants, and hurry in front of him.

“Sorry it’s a mess.” I bend down to grab my shoes and then toss them into the spare room that I turned into my office. “I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

My house is not a mess.