I wake up with a smile on my face, remembering the small flashbacks from last night. Probably one of the best nights in years. My arm reaches out to search for your body and hug you, but I find nothing; the left side is empty. I open my eyes suddenly and see you sitting on the edge of the bed, holding two photo frames. I sit up and lean over a little to see what you're looking at.

Shit.

Okay, let's recap. Last night I went out for a drink with some friends and they dragged me to a pub. I don't have much of a social or dating life since I divorced my ex-wife, so they tricked me into going out. After a few drinks, I somehow ended up dancing with a 25-year-old girl, you. I didn't want to scare you too much with my age, since I'm 46 and could be your father, so, taking advantage of the fact that when I shave my beard and style my hair, I look 34 at most, I lied a little... Oh! And I avoided mentioning that I have a 20-year-old daughter.

Obviously, I didn't want things to go any further than a few dances, but then you kissed me, my friends encouraged me, and... I brought you home knowing that Sophie, my daughter, was at her mom's house this weekend.

The night was wonderful, we didn't talk much, but we didn't really need to, you know what I mean. In fact, I was thinking about going down to the kitchen and making you breakfast. But now... now you're staring at a picture of Sophie when she was three on a trip we took to Puerto Rico and another one from her graduation a few months ago, where we both smile at the camera, the same damn smile, and she's wearing her graduation cap and gown. Maybe I should have hidden them yesterday while you were in the damn bathroom.

What the hell do you do in these situations? Say: Yeah, well, in the end I lied to you about my age, and I have a daughter who's practically your age.

You fucking weirdo.

"Well... I could explain it to you, but I don't think there's much to explain..." I sigh as you turn your head to look at me. "I understand if you want to leave..."