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me and to the side easily. He was completely naked, and I was in my bra and skirt with my panties still hooked around one ankle.
    “Yes . . . she’s at the vet! It’s a, um, 24-hour veterinarian . . .”
    “A 24-hour veterinarian?”
    “Uh, yeah. We have those here . . . in America. Totally.” That hydrochloric acid was sounding incredibly appealing right now. “And I was supposed to pick her up hours ago.”
    “You can’t go by in the morning?”
    I tried to slip my panties back on my other foot, and I toppled backward, ass-planting on my hardwood floor.
    “Jesus, Bliss!”
    He hopped off the bed and knelt beside me, which only made me more flustered considering he was still naked and still , um, ready.
    “I’m fine, promise. I’m fine. I just . . . if I don’t pick her up tonight, there will be a fee, and I can’t afford it.”
    “Well, let me get dressed and I’ll go with you.”
    “NO! Um, no, that’s okay. Shouldn’t your locksmith be coming soon?” I finished with a smile that I hoped said, this is no big deal. I’m sure it actually looked like I’m a crazy person, run now while you can!
    He glanced at the clock, his gorgeous face marred by a frown.
    “I guess, yeah.”
    “Great. I’m just—I’m just going to run. You can, um, let yourself out whenever you’re . . .” my eyes wandered over his body again, and I felt like melting into a puddle of idiocy and mortification and arousal. “Whenever you’re, um, ready. Um, done. Um, just whenever you like.”
    Then I flew through the curtain that shielded my bedroom from the rest of the apartment, and bolted out the door, ignoring him as he called out my name.
    It wasn’t until I’d walked halfway across the parking lot that I realized:
    1. I wasn’t wearing shoes.
       A. Or a shirt.
    2. I didn’t bring my keys
       A. Or anything really.
    3. I’d just left a complete stranger in my apartment.
       A. Naked.
    Whoever said one-night stands were supposed to be simple with no strings attached had clearly never met the disaster that was me.

 
    C HAPTER S EVEN
    F OUR.
    That’s the number of people who saw me hiding around the corner from my own apartment in just a skirt and a bra.
    Eleven.
    That’s the number of ant bites I got on my shoeless feet.
    Twenty-seven.
    That’s the number of times I was tempted to do myself physical harm because I am an IDIOT.
    One.
    That’s the number of times I tried not to cry, but failed.
    Garrick stayed in my apartment for a good ten minutes after I left. The entire time my mind was like a five-year-old who just drank a bathtub full of energy drinks. What was he doing in there? Was he just getting dressed reeeaaally slowly? Was he looking through my things? Was he trashing my place because I’d run out and left him there like the biggest jerk this side of Kanye West at the 2009 VMA’s?
    When he finally exited, I watched him close my door, and then pause. He looked at the metal apartment number nailed into the siding, and just stared at it for a while. Then he shook his head, and started toward his own apartment.
    I waited until I couldn’t see him anymore, and then I waited for another five minutes just to be safe (6 more ant bites, 1 more passerby, and 4 visions of self-harm later).
    As soon as I got inside, I curled up on my bed. The same bed where I’d almost had sex. The same bed where I had wanted to have sex . . . sort of. The same bed that had held an incredibly sexy, incredibly naked British boy. Perhaps I had just jumped off the cliff into Crazy town, but I could swear that the comforter was still warm where his body had been. Like a complete psycho, I leaned my face into the pillow and sniffed like girls in books and movies always do to see if I could still catch his scent.
    I couldn’t. And I felt super creepy.
    I also couldn’t sleep in this bed without going crazy.
    I moved my pillow to the couch, where I sat numbly, probably in shock. At the very least, I could