"Aren't you coming back to bed, babe?"

I turn my upper body so I can glance at the half-naked guy leaning back against the headboard as he watches me putting on my heels.

I slip the second one in place, only briefly mourning the feeling I used to have in my toes. "I've got work," I say dismissively.

"Oh, come on, babe, I'm sure you have time for a quicky."

Yes, I do indeed have two minutes, I think to myself as I fight the urge to gag. I hate it when they use pet names. Seriously, we just met last night; there's no way in hell he already knows me well enough for that sort of thing.

Not like he's gonna get the chance to, either.

"Sorry, really gotta go." My eyes sweep over the room, checking to see if any of my things are scattered somewhere on the floor. I have zero desire to return to this place again.

"Can I get your phone number?" Jake or John or Joshua asks me, a cocky smile on his face, as he rests his arms behind his head, flexing his non-existing muscles.

You don't get to look that smug when you couldn't even make me orgasm.

I shake my head as I pick up my clutch, checking to see if my phone is in there. I pull it out to order an uber before I glance up at his expectant face. "I don't do phone numbers." I give him a tight-lipped smile, turning towards the door with a somewhat pleasant farewell on the tip of my tongue.

"What? It's your own fault if you didn't come," he scoffs. "No one's ever complained before."

I pause with my hand on the doorknob.

Oh, naive, little fool.

I was about to go. I really was. I would have breezed out of here, leaving him with his self-worth mostly intact so he could go on severely underwhelming women in peace, because in all honesty, I have better things to do than educate manchildren, but then he just had to make that comment.

I tap my fingers against my thigh, turning around to look at him as my lips curl. He looks unnecessarily gleeful to have captured my interest once more.

"Exactly how is it my fault that you have a first grader's understanding of female anatomy?" I ask him, resting my hand on my hip.

A flush creeps up his neck, turning his ears red, and I'm guessing all that blood that had been conjugating in his groin area at the, albeit delusional, prospect of a second round has now rushed to his face in embarrassment. "What did you say?" he sputters.

Really? He is just gonna allow me to monolog? It's his funeral.

"I said that even if God had blessed you with the stamina and restraint of someone more experienced than a thirteen-year-old boy, those fumbling hands of yours would still have needed a roadmap to find my clit, and then a tutorial on how to approach it." I pause momentarily to smooth down the front of my silk blouse, hoping a night on this guy's bedroom floor hasn't left it too creased for my walk of shame.

And it really is - a shame that I came here, that is.

The guy, who shall henceforth be referred to as small-dick-Jake, is just staring at me, his mouth opening and closing like he's a goldfish, so I sigh and go on, "because, you see, it takes more than three pumps and a delivery to please a woman, but I'm guessing that all of your, what? Two previous partners didn't really have the patience to coach you through sexual intercourse 101." I shrug. "Not that I blame them; we can recognize a lost cause when we see one."

With that, I cast him one last slightly pitied look before I turn on my heels and strut out of the room, calling a greeting over my shoulder as I leave him to pick up the pieces of his shattered ego, "have a nice life, Jake."

The door of the apartment has almost closed behind me when small-dick-Jake's parting words finally reach me, "it's James!"

Oh well.

🏊‍♂️

I discard my shoes at the entrance to our apartment, letting out a small sigh as my feet are freed from the heels. Barefoot I patter over the cold tile floor into the kitchen, turning on the coffee machine. I open the cabinet, perusing for two cups. We have several rows of bland, neutral, beige coffee cups of the variety that one might use if one's parents came to visit, and then there is the collection of mismatched mugs in all shapes, sizes, and designs. A new one mysteriously appears every few months.

I grab two Disney-themed cups. One is off-white with a drawing of Bell and a pile of books on it. The other is lime-green, depicting the most relatable lion in history and the quote 'I'm surrounded by idiots.'

When the coffee finishes brewing, I pour the black liquid into the two mugs, leaving room in Bell's for an unearthly amount of milk and sugar that should make it illegal to refer to this as coffee.

Picking them up, I make my way up the stairs, walking towards the first door on my right. I bump my hip against it, seeing how I have no free hands.

"Are you up?" I call.

"Hmmph," comes the disgruntled reply.

I shake my head and use my elbow to turn down the doorknob, pushing the door open and squint into the dimly lit room.

In the middle of the queen-sized bed, buried underneath the covers and surrounded by one too many throw pillows and stuffed animals I know she'll claim she no longer sleeps with, I see a figure moving.

"Is it morning?" my roommate asks in a pitiful voice.

"You bet, didn't your alarm ring?"

Jen sticks her head out from under the duvet. "Twice," she admits. I hand over the Disney princess mug, and she shoots me a thankful smile. "You're a lifesaver."

We both sip at our coffees as she sticks her legs out of bed, rubbing her eyes. Her blond hair is rumbled in a horrible case of bedhead, and I can't help smiling into my cup.

Jen places her black, thin-framed glasses on her face and looks over, her sleepy, blue eyes taking in my creased shirt and tight skirt. "Did you just get in?"

"Yup."

"Who was it this time?" she asks, trying to untangle her hair with her fingers.

"Does it matter? He won't be making a repeat anyways." I take another sip, savoring the taste. I have no idea how Jen can drink that creamy crap.

She's just about to answer when the doorbell rings. I glance down at my watch, confirming it's 7.30 am. Not even the mailman comes by this early. Who the hell is that?

I raise an eyebrow at Jen as she jumps to her feet. "Shoot, that's Darren. Do you mind letting him in?"

My teeth grit in reflex at that name. It's bad enough I have to see him on the weekends, now I also have to endure him in the morning?

"Why is he here?" I ask, ignoring her request. I try to keep my voice level, but a bit of disgust creeps in.

Jen pretends she doesn't hear it as she opens her drawer, pulling out clean underwear. "He's driving me to school."

"You have a car."

She shoots me a look. "It's at the mechanics."

"You could use mine," I say instantly, even though it's not really true.

She sighs, turning to look me in the eyes. Even slumping against her door frame, I'm still a head taller than her. "Soph, you've got work, and he's my fiancé; he can give me a lift." The doorbell rings again. "Now, do you mind opening? I have to take a shower."

For all I care, Darren could be left standing outside; however, he's important to Jen, so I at least have to be civil to him. "Fine."

I turn, walking down the stairs as slowly as possible, trying to prolong the wait until I have to come face to face with simultaneously the most tedious and sleaziest human being I've ever had the displeasure of knowing.

I take a deep breath, pulling open the door, to find Jen's fiancé waiting on the other side.

Darren.

It's one of the small pleasures in my life that I'm actually half an inch taller than him.

He's one of those pretty boys who uses more time in front of the mirror than I do, which is no small feat. His skin is completely smooth, like it was made out of porcelain and then bathed in spray tan - no one gets that much sun in Michigan. His blonde hair is pulled back with approximately one gallon of hair products, ensuring that not one hair is out of place.

To put it frankly, he looks like a mix between the Justin Bieber figure at Madame Tussauds and a Ken doll.

Lifeless and waxy.

More than once, I've imagined completing the Ken-look for him by surgically removing his male sex organs - Do I have any kind of medical training? No. Would that in any way deter me? Also no.

But Jen likes him, so I play nice.

Mostly.

"Sophie," he greets me in a somewhat polite tone.

The thing is, I'm not a polite person. I bring my mug up to my face, ensuring that the quote is facing his way, and take a sip, all the while keeping eye contact with the sleazeball.

His mouth twitches, but he schools his expression, trying to keep the annoyance out of his face. "Can I come in?"

Oh, how I would love to say no and slam the door in his face, but this is also Jen's apartment, and I can't exactly deny her fiancé entrance.

They got engaged a little over a year ago, and the wedding is in less than six months. I've never outright told Jen not to marry the man, although she's not dumb. She knows me all too well to not pick up on my animosity towards Ken 2.0.

I take a step to the side, indicating for him to walk inside, but only leaving so much space that he awkwardly has to squeeze by me. I just take another sip of my drink.

He stops in the entrance, and I can see how much it bugs him that he has to address me again, especially since I've yet to say a single word to him. "Is Jen ready?"

I would rather take thirty rounds more with small-dick-Jake than have to stand here talking to Darren.

"Does it look like it?" I ask, only just managing not to roll my eyes.

He mutters something under his breath, and while I can't hear what it is, I can easily guess. Darren hates being late. He's annoyingly punctual. He's also not used to Jen dragging her feet in the morning since they're waiting to move in together until after the wedding.

"She'll get here when she gets here." I walk towards one of the barstools at the kitchen island.

I take a seat, crossing my legs, and watch Darren as he shifts from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable. He's dressed in a little bit too tight, black suit, with a pair of really shiny shoes. Exactly how you would expect an accountant to look.

I can't actually put a finger on why Darren gets under my skin; there is just something about him. I don't like how he looks at Jen like she's his possession or something. And then it pisses me off whenever he talks to her in that chipped tone, as if she has greatly inconvenienced him.

Which is exactly what he does as she comes down the stairs. "What took you so long?"

Jen stops in front of him, leaning up to peck him quickly on the lips. "Just had to take a shower, honey. I'm almost ready."

His face is carved in stone, not showing the slightest bit of recognition that his ultra-sweet fiancé just kissed him.

Jen rushes past me quickly. She's dressed in a pair of skinny jeans and a loose, cream-colored sweatshirt. Her hair is compiled in a bun atop her head, and the ever-present cross hangs around her neck. She puts her cup in the sink, grabs a bottle of water and an apple from the fridge before heading over to me, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Have a good day, Soph. When will you be home?" she asks as she cramps her things into her bag and walks over to grab her leopard-printed heels.

"I get off at six. I'll take care of dinner." I shoot Darren a look over her shoulder that clearly states that he isn't invited.

"Great, see you," she calls to me as they both walk out the door, Darren slamming it behind him a little too hard, leaving me in silence.

I sigh, drink the last of the now lukewarm coffee before I slide off the stool, checking my watch. I have to be at work in thirty minutes, and I've yet to shower.

Oh well, I can't remember the last time I wasn't late.

When I exit the shower, I quickly blow-dry my hair. I had it dyed last week, this time in a dark violet color. I secure it in a tight bun, and then I change into something somewhat work-appropriate.

I grab my purse as I head out the door. It's only been five minutes since my shift was supposed to start as I glide into the driver's seat of my car. I roll down the window to have a quick cigarette on my way.

As I stop my car outside the Michigan Lakefront hotel, the first few drops of rain start falling. Our short summer is officially over, and we're heading into the wet autumn. Great.

I grab my umbrella from the backseat, looking over at the hotel entrance.

Might as well get this over with. 

A/N: 
What do you think of Sophie?
Oh, and in case you didn't notice, Darren is a piece of trash 😒
- Hanna 💙