Dirtbag

“Good morning?” It’s more of question, since I have never really been in this situation. I’ve slept with random girls every once in a blue moon, but never had them stay over. This is something entirely new.

Casey gives me one of her trademark smiles, all with her messy hair and naked face, then says, “Hey.”

“We didn’t do anything.” She makes a face that either says she is confused or relieved. I can’t tell which is which.

“This is bad,” I can hear her mumble. My stomach drops, but then I realize it—this is exactly what I need. I need to reassure myself that only in a place like Crazy Town would Casey Reed be interested in me. She only said what she said because she was drunk. Drunken people never make sense.

She fumbles around through the kitchen cabinets, finally pulling out a mug.

“Oh, no,” she finally says. I jerk around, worried she hurt herself or finally concluded that she is only wearing a shirt—my shirt to be exact—and underwear. To my relief, she is only staring at the empty counter space. “You don’t have coffee.”

“Sorry,” I apologize. I am such an idiot. A real guy would tell her to get over it or ignore her disappointment. I, on the other hand, was apologizing for not owning a coffee machine just for Casey Reed. I now wish I had one, though.

“Don’t say that,” Casey says. Instead, she gets herself a glass of juice and sits on the living room couch. I awkwardly stand, unsure of what to do. “Sit down, silly. This is your place.”

“So, um,” I’m mumbling again like a fucking idiot, “sorry if I woke you up.”

She laughs. “You apologize too much, Jack. I’m sorry you had to take care of my drunken ass. Oh, God, did I puke? Did I mess anything up or break anything or do or say anything stupid?”

“One,” I reply, “it’s okay. Two, no, you didn’t. Three, four, and five—no. And six? Maybe.”

“No,” she groans, falling back against the couch. Her legs are crossed over one another, resting atop of the coffee table. Being around her would be so much easier if she was covered in a blanket or something.

“What did I say?”

“Huh?” I pull myself away from the sight of her. I can feel my face heat up. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck—

“What did I say?”

“Oh,” I mumble. “You probably don’t want to know.”

“Trust me,” Casey grins, hair falling in her face, “I do.”

I sigh and run a hand through my hair. “Well, what do you last remember?”

“The whole conversation about Gus,” she replies as she rolls her eyes. Her breath smells like peppermint and I’m pretty sure she used my toothpaste. Was she that comfortable with me? Was I already in the friend-zone?

“Okay,” I drag out. “Well, I had to practically carry you out to my car…”

“Jesus.”

“…and then you were going on, saying that I am ‘a good guy…’”

“Sounds about right.”

“...and I really don’t think you want to talk about the rest.”

“What could I have done that would be so terrible to talk about?” she asks me. I finally look at her. Casey is batting her eyelashes—just like she did the night before, except this times she’s sober—and her legs are all curled up and the couch is so small that she’s barely touching me and—that’s when it hits me. Casey knows what she said.

“You told me that you didn’t want to sleep with me.”

“Uh huh.”

“Then you got all pissed off and said that you like me.”

It feels as though I finished visiting a minister and was relieved of all my sins. There literally must have been a weight on my chest because I can finally breathe again. I can’t look at Casey, but I can breathe again.

“Jack,” I hear Casey whisper. It’s low and scratchy, the way all voices are in the morning, and I can’t help but get turned on. Casey Reed is slowly killing me.

I look back to her after a few silent moments and then her lips are on mine. I can taste her and—yeah, she did use my toothpaste—can’t help but grab her waist and pull her in. She’s so close and I’m afraid that she’ll go away.

This is it. This is a moment worth remembering.