February

01

I'D BROKEN UP WITH Corey about a month ago, but we still saw each other every weekend. Every Sunday was my date with destiny, I made sure that it was a routine at this point, because he was conveniently located in Midtown and only about five blocks from work. Five blocks was nothing, five blocks was a walk in the park.

But five blocks felt a lot longer when you were an hour late.

I've never been more than a good 30 minutes late to work, so when I rolled over and saw that it was an hour past 1:00 - my clock in - I nearly jumped out of my own skin. Shoving his comforter back and exposing my naked skin to the cool atmosphere of his room, I sprung to action. Panties, bra, jeans—

"Shirt," I sputtered, frantically looking between his crumpled sheets, the breathes being released from his sleeping body, and his clothes thrown sloppily on the floor. Frustrated, I kicked his side and he jolted awake. "Corey, where's my shirt?"

Groggily he stirred, squinting at me as I began to throw his clothes around. "Wha—?" He croaked, slowly sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "The fuck are you—"

"Corey." I hissed and harshly chucked a random article of clothing at him. It seemed to do the trick, as his reflexes kicked in and he caught it, muscles tensing as his brows furrowed. "Where the fuck is my shirt?!"

Corey had always been clueless, at this point it was his personality trait. He could never read situations, and he certainly could never read me, so it was pointless to be frustrated with him. I had broken up with him for my own reasons, and I had chosen to be friends with benefits. I had chosen to bring this disgusting amount of ditziness back into my life. He didn't know where my shirt was.

"I. . . dunno. . ." He stammered, and my disappointment fused with rage as I hastily continued my hunt for my plain, white shirt. "I remember it was on and then it wasn't and now . . ." I heard him get up slowly, heard the pads of his feet meet his hard wood floor. "Wait," Corey murmured, and when I halted my search to glance at him, he was holding a wrinkled shirt in his hand. "Right under my pillow case."

I snatched it from him and threw it on, "Fuck you," before slipping on my heeled boots and nearly sprinting out of his bedroom.

"Quinn!" He called after me, his heavy steps mere moments behind mine as I grabbed my trench coat from his rack and my bag from his hallway floor, "Wait," He gripped onto my elbow, halting me momentarily before I snatched it back. "Let me at least call you an Uber or something to . . . to wherever it is you're—"

"Work." I glanced at my phone, my phone that miraculously hadn't charged last night. An hour and 10 minutes late, 16% battery. "Work, Corey, I'm going to work."

"Okay," He laughed, and when I turned to him I realized that he was completely naked, genitals and all. He had no shame, and that along with his dark skin, lean physique and gapped smile were all traits that I found incredibly attractive. So attractive that I was contemplating an afternoon quickie. I was already late, who's to say a sick day wasn't in order? "Then let me call you an Uber to work."

I shook my head. He'd brought me back to reality, and I returned to my frantic state of worry. "I have to either walk or catch a cab." I yanked open his door then, and was power walking away from him and towards the elevator.

I did hear him poke his head out of his door and call out to me once more, "Cab button's—"

"—In the elevator, got it!"

Although I would never admit it I was glad that he'd reminded me, for I was in such a rush that I had almost forgotten to press it. Luckily he was the pent house suite, and I had an ounce of time to get my life together, the start of which meant pressing the cab button. So that when I was in my cab and headed towards work, I could breathe.