Read Online The Perfect Man by Amanda K. Byrne - Free Book Online

thought, of consciousness. There was nothing but the bright white fire, licking my bones and turning me to dust. As the fire receded, my hands slipped off his ass, and he stiffened above me, his groan low and broken.
    I was ruined. Utterly ruined.
     
    *
     
    The scent of sex hung in the air, the musk of it clinging to the sheets. I cracked an eye and took in the light in the room. Morning, from the looks of it. I considered snuggling under the blankets and going back to sleep. Or maybe I’d take advantage of Alex. I rolled over.
    The other side of the bed was empty.
    I sat up and pushed my hair behind my ears. Remy and Lucien were curled around each other at the foot of the bed, and I glanced at the bedroom door. It was cracked open. I distinctly remember him closing it the night before after he’d dealt with the last condom. I pushed the blankets back and padded out of the room.
    He wasn’t in the kitchen. Or my office. Or the living room. His clothes were gone. I went back to the kitchen, where I’d left my phone. There was a piece of paper on it. A sticky note.
    I'm sorry .
    This wasn’t funny. It was funny on Sex and the City . It wasn’t funny in real life. I crumpled the note and swiped my phone awake. I found the text string we’d started last night and sent him a message. What do you mean, you're sorry?
    My hand trembled as I held my phone, waiting for his response. I set it on the counter before I dropped it, only to scoop it back up as it chimed with a new text.
    I thought I could do this. Too fucked in the head, sweetheart. I'm sorry. I should have stopped.
    The world swayed and spun. Had last night been horrible? Were all those words, those pretty, pretty words, were nothing more than lies?
    The phone clattered on the countertop as I dug my fingers into the unforgiving surface, seeking purchase. One night. A fantasy. One perfect night. It hadn’t been real. I hadn’t met a man at a speed dating event and taken him home. He hadn’t danced with me in the snow or made me come so hard I saw stars. It was a dream. A really fantastic one.
    The sooner I accepted that, the better off I’d be.
    Cold, wrapped in a fog, I walked into the bedroom. I should take a shower. Get dressed. I pulled on my robe and turned to the bed.
    His hands on my skin. Those hot, broken groans. The vague soreness between my legs, a keen reminder that last night had definitely happened.
    My mind shut off. I stripped the sheets from the bed and dumped them in the washing machine, added detergent and turned it on. I cleaned up the pots from dinner, rinsed our dishes and stuck them in the dishwasher, put away the marshmallows, and, once the washing machine filled, got in the shower and scrubbed my skin raw.
    I picked up my clothes and threw them in the hamper and made up the bed with fresh sheets. I had things to do. Projects to finish. If the streets had cleared enough, I probably ought to do some grocery shopping. Who knew when the next storm would blow through?
    On my way through the kitchen, I picked up my phone.
    You and me, this is real.
    No, it wasn’t. My mistake had been believing it could be. Alex was a blip on my radar, already out of range. With surprisingly steady fingers, I deleted our texts, then located his contact information and deleted that as well. Errands. Projects. I didn’t have time to put my life on hold, even for a day.
    I burst into tears.
    *
    I ended up moping the whole weekend. I left my phone off and ignored my deadlines, watching every Joseph Gordon-Levitt movie I owned. By Monday, I couldn’t put off those errands any longer. My cupboards were running on empty, and I was down to my last scoop of kitten food. Delivery was sketchy, due to the snow, so I bundled up to wade down the street to the store four blocks away. Getting out of the house would probably be good for me, too. Show the world I wasn’t grieving for a relationship I’d never have.
    Someone in the building had cleared off the front walk,