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If she had access to a mirror, she’d see her hair all askew, ravaged just like the blankets behind her on the bed. Without one, she’d just have to settle for seeing her dress thrown haphazardly on the TV, his Levi’s flung over the armchair, and the way her head threatened to explode from the incessant pressure at her temples.
Pulling her bra straps back up, Sophie adjusted the cups, noticing a smattering of bruising across her chest, serving as reminders of what they had done last night. Faint memories stirred of how warm and solid his body had felt in her hands as she had traced over his scars.
A guttural moan echoed behind her, underneath the strewn blankets as Eliot shifted on the plush bed. She could recall the team drinks, with Parker egging everyone on about having fun while wearing a cheap bouncy heart headband. Her thoughts then drifted to Eliot’s impromptu pool game, which she had tried to avoid like the plague because of his insistence on showing her how to play.
Pushing herself up, she shuffled over to the TV and plucked her red dress from the corner; the color being her only acknowledgement of the holiday the night before. The smell of stale beer mixed with the faint sandalwood of Eliot’s cologne clung to the dress. She pulled the dress over her head and began searching for her underwear, all while massaging her aching temples.
“Soph?” It came out slurred but still laced with his trademark grit from under the pile of blankets.
Her breath hitched as she recalled how that grit sounded in her ear as he came last night. Chasing those thoughts away, she answered, “I…uh, good morning. Just trying to locate all our clothes.” She cringed at how flustered she sounded. She didn’t get flustered in front of men, and she definitely shouldn’t be flustered by him.
“We need protein.” His statement sounded muffled because he had flung his arm across his face, now sprawled on his back.
Sophie stopped her search to eye him, but was drawn to his arm muscles, which stood out with no oversized clothing in the way. Arms that she recalled leaning against the wall last night, while he had asked how serious things were between her and Jack.
“And coffee,” Eliot grunted, sitting up in bed.
Nodding and unable to look away, she offered, “Coffee sounds nice.”
—
The hot coffee hit the back of her throat, providing relief for her headache. Barely able to sit up straight at his kitchen table, she propped her head against her fist to watch him navigate from the fridge to the stovetop with practiced ease, even if he looked as hungover as she felt.
“You sure you don’t want eggs?” he asked, turning with the skillet and spatula in hand. The scene reminded her of countless mornings where Nate had tried his best at making her breakfast, despite his predilection for adding too much seasoning.
She nodded in response to Eliot’s question and regretted the decision after her head throbbed. She then reached out and popped a handful of painkillers into her palm before chasing the medicine down with another sip of the warm coffee.
With an armful, Eliot neared the table holding two tall glasses and balancing two plates, easily setting everything down before taking the chair across from her. Letting out a long sigh, he massaged his forehead, the only betrayal of his still-present hangover. “Gimme those,” he grunted, pointing toward the pill bottle she had just sat down.
After handing over the bottle, Sophie picked up a piece of toast and nibbled on the corner, thankful for something bland at the moment. Across from her, Eliot mirrored her head-propping as he cracked two eggs into a tall glass in front of him. It reminded her of a few other times over the years of various hangovers, some with the man in front of her, or those times of Hardison drinking Alka-Seltzer before she thought of Nate. Of his years clinging to a bottle, of San Lorenzo, of love, finally getting their chance and loss.
Of finding the courage to go back into the dating world to keep the loneliness at bay, to inject some much-needed fun into her life. Fun that they were having last night when she had given in and let him show her a few pool shots.
“Hey, you need the protein, Sophie,” Eliot said, pointing at the dollop of peanut butter nestled between her toast and mixed berries.
Frowning as he chugged the egg and tomato juice concoction freshly mixed in the glass, Sophie took the butter knife and spread some peanut butter on her toast. Afterward, she glowered at him and took a bite. The corner of his mouth ticked upward before he focused on scooping his scramble onto the fork.
They continued eating, the sounds of utensils scraping against the ceramic plates interspersed with silence. A silence that threatened to smother them in its ever-expansive state, unless one of them had the courage to break it.
She looked at Eliot as he finished his last bite. Her mouth opened to break the silence, but he scooted his chair back, collected their empty plates, and took them to the sink. Lifting her coffee to her mouth to cover her still open mouth, Sophie smoothed out the fabric of her knit dress, much like he had last night, running his fingers over the open knitting and whispering just how much the tiny eyelets had been driving him nuts.
“Are we going to be okay?” Eliot asked, leaning against the counter.
Taking a moment to compose herself, she set her cup down, hoping he didn’t notice the slight tremor in her hand as she did so. “Why wouldn’t we be?”
His jaw clenched while his gaze bore down on her. After what felt like an eternity, he said, “We…we slept together, Sophie.”
“I think we can handle this. I mean, we’ve both had one-night stands before.” Her stomach twisted when she saw his reaction. He had looked down as she said those words, his long hair spilling forth and hiding his eyes. Eyes that, after their first kiss last night, had left her breath caught somewhere in the back of her throat.
Instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets and mumbled something about driving her home.
All the while, the throbbing in her temple intensified. Pressing her head into her hand harder, she cleared her throat. “I’d appreciate that.”
—
After buckling up in his gray chavelle, Sophie propped herself against the window, grateful for the relief for her headache that the cool glass had provided. In the driver’s seat, Eliot had a firm grip on the steering wheel as he backed out of his driveway. He kept the radio off and his eyes focused on the road during the drive back to her house. The surrounding city came alive with the sounds of the streetcar bells as they drove by, even though the sounds made her head pulse more.
Closing her eyes to keep the waking city at bay only seemed to invite flashes of last night, though. Images of her giggling into his ear at a bawdy joke he had shared, interspersed with him nipping at her neck just inside his front door. All the while, her words in his kitchen about being able to handle a one-night stand taunted her, mixing with a similar turn of phrase she had used on Nate all those years ago on that small Mediterranean island.
But Eliot wasn’t Nate. Neither were any of the men she had been dating, though.
So, she kept her eyes open, her head aching as he drove. The sunlight flickered across the center console, highlighting the vast space between them. Upon pulling up at her place a few minutes later, she unbuckled and lifted the knob to unlock the door.
Just as she grabbed the handle to open the door, though, his voice made her jump. “I don’t regret it. Any of it.”
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she nodded. Excuses flew through her mind at breakneck speed, from “we work together” to “we’d drive each other bonkers.” She chanced a glance his way, catching him raking a hand through his hair, looking every bit as confused and hungover as she felt. “Eliot-”
“Please don’t,” he said, eyes locked on hers.
Mutely nodding, she got out of the car and headed inside.