Once I’m out of bed, I find my shoes, slip them on, and then open the door just a crack. I’m like a runaway trying to sneak out in the middle of the night. The house is silent, so I tiptoe down the hall and stairs. I’m only a few steps from the front door—so close to getting out of here unseen.

I’ll send Sydney a text when I get home and tell her I left because I wasn’t feeling well. I’m not feeling great, so technically it’s true. I feel embarrassed and disappointed and confused—definitely not well.

Leaving in the middle of the night is maybe a little dramatic, but I don’t want to deal with the whole awkward next morning routine. Ironically, I think it might be more humiliating to wake up alone than it was naked and only remembering pieces of the night before.

I’m trying not to be offended that he found it so awful to sleep in the same bed as me that he actually got up and went to sleep somewhere else. Trying and failing.

I take one last glance over my shoulder to make sure I’m not seen and freeze. The living room is dark with only the light from the TV that’s out of view casting a soft glow in the room. Nathan has his back to me, raising and lowering a set of dumbbells, alternating curls with each arm. I’m frozen, trying to decide if I should tiptoe back upstairs or risk him hearing the door when I leave, that it takes me a moment to really take in the scene before me.

He’s shirtless and only wearing the gray sweatpants he put on for bed. He turns his head slightly and I hold my breath and press against the wall. He’s got earbuds in so I’m probably safe to sneak out, but I don’t do that. No, I walk toward the hot guy lifting weights at two o’clock in the morning.

When I get closer, I can see New Girl is on the TV. It’s silent, but the subtitles are on. My heart does a funny flutter thing in my chest when I realize he’s catching up on the episodes I watched without him.

I come around behind him at an angle, waiting for him to see me and hoping I don’t scare him into dropping a weight on his foot or something. I swear the man has been curling for a solid three minutes and doesn’t look like he’s even breaking a sweat… oh, nope, there’s the sweat. Sweet, delicious sweat.