THE HOT lawyer's

Part 3

Jennie

Shit, what time is it?

I pushed myself up from the bed, out of the cocoon of blanket and pillows I had buried myself in, and immediately covered my eyes from the sunlight seeping in from the blinds.

Ouch.

My hangover was front and center. I'd had far too much tequila last night, those skinny margaritas going down like water. If I'd only woken a half hour earlier, I could appreciate the deliciously perfect naked woman lying beside me, reveling in every moment we'd shared together last night. Details I could still recall from the soreness in my body. But as I searched for the clock, one on Lisa's side, it glowed a number that told me I was going to be extremely late for my meeting.

I climbed out of bed, hopping around the room with the balance of a newborn puppy, and tried to find my dress and shoes and purse—everything I'd worn to the hotel party. Each item had fallen in a different place on the floor the minute she carried me in here. Collecting my things in my arms, I brought them all into the bathroom. I slipped on my dress and tied my hair back with an elastic from my clutch, ensuring yesterday's makeup wasn't running down my cheeks before I rushed back to the bedroom.

Lisa was still asleep on her stomach. Her arms stretched above her head, dark hair and lighter skin covering them, hints of a morning shadow on the unhidden parts of her cheek.

And then there was her ass.

Two yummy, hard hills that caused a rise in the blanket.

My God.

That woman was all muscle and masculinity and sex.

Before last night, I had been positive unicorns like her only existed because of Photoshop.

But proof was directly in front of me.

And because I was an idiot, I didn't have her last name, phone number, or any set plans to see her again.

But after what had gone down in this room—the way she made my body feel, the connection that exploded between us—I needed all of her information.

I just didn't have time to wake her up and have that conversation.

I found a small pad of paper and pen on the dining table. As I jotted down my name and number and an apology for having to leave so fast, my skin flushed as I remembered what she had done to me on this wood.

I left the note on top of her pants and bolted down the hallway and into the elevator, ordering a ride-share that met me in front of the lobby only a minute after I arrived. Even at this early hour, the traffic was brutal, the driver having to navigate a few alternate routes just to avoid some of the heavier congestion.

At the sight of my apartment, I threw the backseat door open and stripped off my dress the moment I got inside. I adjusted my hair into a higher knot and clipped the fallen pieces to the top of my head, and then I stepped beneath the warm spray of the shower. I covered my loofah with my beach-scented body wash and scrubbed Lisa from my skin.

One-night stand. That certainly wasn't a term I was familiar with.

I knew the word boyfriend/girlfriend.

Relationship.

Commitment, sacrifice, compromise.

But what had happened last evening—the lack of a last name, the horny minx I had turned into, wildly passionate sex with a total stranger, someone who had learned my body better than any man I'd ever dated—was a language I'd never spoken before.

Now, every time I moved, each inch tugging at the soreness inside, was a reminder.

I could only hope Lisa would keep the message I'd left for her, and we could do all of that again—maybe with food and more conversation next time.