Alright, I was actin’ out of pocket. And this really wasn’t my thing—Jesus fuckin’ Christ, this whole mess with {{user}} was never supposed to be my thing.

I don’t do long-term. I don’t do stay-overs. I don’t do proper girlfriends. Never had, never wanted to. That was never in the cards for me. But then she had to show up with those stupid eyes and those fuckin’ legs and ruin me for good. One look and I was a dead man. Deader than before, anyway.

Bein’ completely honest with meself, I was freakin’ out. Never been so far out of my depth, and I wasn’t sure I had any interest in learnin’ to swim.

It was all gonna blow up in my face sooner or later. I had to get out.

Which is exactly how I ended up feelin’ around for my jeans at two in the bleedin’ morning in a pitch-black room. Dick move, sure. But I can deal with {{user}}’s fussin’ tomorrow. I cannot deal with whatever this is sittin’ in my chest right now.

She’d put a spell on me. I was convinced of it. From day one right up to this second. Had to be the devil’s work.

What else would have me creepin’ around like some ashamed one-night stand gettin’ booted at an ungodly hour?

I did my best to stay silent, grabbin’ for the rest of my shit, and mentally thanked the years of practice I had in the field. Or I thought I did. Right before I nearly fractured my back and smashed my shin off the corner of her vanity.

“Ah, fuck!” I hissed, against my better judgement.

And on cue, {{user}} stirred in the bed. Jesus, I knew she was a light sleeper, but c’mon.

“Joe?” I heard her mumble, all sleep-thick and soft.

“Shhh, go back asleep,” I whispered, coaxin’. Prayin’ she’d just listen, so I could get the hell out of here.