We had sex. The dirty, selfish, 9-1/2 Weeks kind where both participants are focused on his and her own pleasure. The kind of sex you have when you don't know when your next opportunity will be. Things were done. And truth be told, I was the instigator of most of those things.
What have I done?
My stomach dropped. I just had dirty, selfish sex with someone that I am going to have to see again. And what about Clemson's feelings? What about Statham's ex? I'm pretty sure I already made her cry once this weekend. Oh god.
Statham came up behind me and sucked in air through his teeth. "You have scratch marks all the way down your back. I'm sorry."
Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.
I wanted to be friends with these people and what I ended up doing was creating the most volatile situation imaginable. I slept with a guy who broke up with his girlfriend 48 hours earlier, who is also in the same group. She's going to hate me and I don't blame her one bit. I feel like the other woman, a homewrecker. Word is going to get out and I'm going to be known as The Hussy.
But I'm not a hussy! The last time I slept with someone I wasn't dating was S in 2007, and even that turned into a two-year relationship. Before that was Nick in 2005, and he was a good friend from college. I don't do strange.
We got in the shower together. The conversation was awkward. "So, uh, how's your kickball season going?" he asked.
"We haven't won yet."
He left me alone to re-dress. The gravity of the situation hit me and I began to shake. Even though he's single, Statham's not available. Everyone had been joking all weekend that they were going to get back together within the week. He kept assuring me that's not the case, but let's be real here: I knew he was lying. He, at the very least, didn't know what was going to happen.
He reappeared in the hallway where our clothes had been strewn. He pressed me against the wall and began caressing my side.
"I think... I think I need to sit down," I stammered. Instead of finding a piece of furniture to sit down upon, my back slid down the wall and I plopped on the carpet. I grabbed the towel I used minutes earlier and tried to use it as a security blanket, but Statham grabbed it out of my hands and tossed it aside.
"You think this was a mistake," he said slowly. "It's written all over your face."
Yes. "No." I paused, "Just promise me one thing: when you get back together with your ex, this never happened."
He tilted his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. "I know people have been joking all weekend, taking bets about when we're getting back together, but it's different this time. This wasn't one of our usual breakups. There was closure." He met my eyes and held them, "I don't regret what I did with you. Not one bit."
"It's just I'm new and I'm trying to make friends. I don't want gossip and I don't want a reputation."
He laughed. "It's an incestuous group. Everybody has slept with everybody—except for me of course because I've been in a relationship—and what you've done is nothing compared to the rest of them.
"I have a good time with you," he continued. "When we were hanging out at the team bar and we were all invited to the Mexican restaurant, I was excited to hang out with you more! I thought you were giving me a vibe."
I clasped my hands to my face and groaned, "I'm not supposed to be giving out the vibe!" And if I remember correctly, I didn't. At least not intentionally. Don't get me wrong, I've given Statham the vibe before, but at the team bar he was the one who approached me.
He popped up behind my barstool, "Listen, we have to talk about your shorts."
I looked down. I was wearing little red running shorts with my alma mater stamped on the leg. I looked at Statham's shorts. He was wearing the basketball shorts of the enemy. My rival school.
"My shorts are more socially adept than your shorts," I teased.
"My shorts are smarter than your your shorts."
"My shorts can outdrink your shorts."
"My shorts make more money than your shorts."
"My shorts have hot girls!" I shouted.
"Touche," he smiled.
So, no, it wasn't me. Or at least it didn't start with me.
"And then I get to the Mexican restaurant and the ex was there..." he trailed off. "She wasn't supposed to be there."
"I didn't know it was her."
"I was trying to get you to go home with me last night, but Clemson wouldn't leave," he snarled. I stayed silent. "And today at the pub you ignored me," he playfully slapped my leg. "Now it's Sunday night and we both have to be at work in the morning. So what now?" he asked.
"I don't know," I shrugged. My mind was blank. I kept thinking about when Valdosta dumped me. I invited him up to my apartment and he said no, that we needed to separate and let things marinate. That's what I wanted in this moment. I wanted to leave, let the dust settle and have time to sort out my feelings.
He tilted his head to the side and tisked. "You still think this was a mistake, don't you?"
But I already know this was a mistake, because I just put myself in a prime situation to get hurt. Your twenties are for making mistakes though. Thank god I got one week left.
"At least you can cross 'sleeping with the enemy' off your list of things to do before you're 30," he chuckled.
The tension broke and I laughed. I shook my head, "You know, I think you are my first."
I just don't know yet if this was a good mistake or a bad mistake.