Say My Name

[Berkeley, California. Modern Day]

  The sun assaults my vision, even through my closed lids, as it filters through the slats of very expensive-looking redwood blinds. I rub my eyes, blinking awake. I always feel a little out of sorts when I wake from my dreams, but today is worse than usual. 

    When I reach above me to find my glasses, I realize that the headboard does not have a shelf. As I continue to blink, I also remember that I didn’t wear glasses last night, but contacts that I forgot to remove and would be a pain in my ass to remove later. My neck is sore, and I notice my pillow is lumpier than usual. As I sit up and rub the sore spot on my neck, memories from the night before start to slowly flood their way back into my brain. The house party in Kensington. There was a large house with a pool and a huge yard with a view of the Golden Gate Bridge. 

There was a fire pit and really strong punch. Embyr left me alone with a handsome young man with golden hair and a shirt with a stag and thorn logo on his chest. He handed me a red dixie cup filled to the brim with a brew that smelled like elderberries, rum, and something earthier. Honey? His smile was so charming in the golden glow of the fire and the cool reflection of the moonlight. There was a kiss and then, I cannot remember exactly, but I do remember us giggling into a bedroom, him pressing me against the wall, his hand slowly massaging my thighs and….

    This is not my room.

    I snap out of my flashback, my cheeks burning as I feel myself growing wet at just the memory of the night before. I was usually much more careful about these things. Thank god, my mother had me go onto birth control when I was 13 to help with my extreme menstrual cycles. Although there are so many other things, apart from an unwanted pregnancy, that can go wrong on an unplanned one-night stand.  Oh my god, I’m going to need to get tested. I’ll stop by the clinic on campus. Damn it! I’m usually better about things like this. This situation was about fifty shades of stupid.

    At least I didn’t wake up in handcuffs. Again.

    I’m going to kill Embyr!

    Coming back to the here, and now, I look down to see that the lumpy pillow that had put the worst crick in my neck was actually the well-shaped arm of that gorgeous young man. In the early daylight, his blond hair has a slight strawberry tinge, his eyelashes, and eyebrows a faint brown. His naked chest is spare of hair, and his pectorals, firm and sleek, looked like they were chiseled in marble. His skin is pale with only a touch of sun-kissed color, his pink cheeks are blessed with a delicate scattering of freckles. He looks so sweet as he sleeps, like an orange tabby kitten or one of those cherub paintings, almost angelic. And young. Definitely a few years younger than me. Oh gods, I hope he’s at least 18. 

    I blink some more, slowly forcing my eyes to stay open. To become fully awake, I do a body scan. I am hungry, dehydrated, and the oncoming ache of a hangover is trying to creep up on me. 

    My vision starts to clear as my eyes regain some moisture. I blink around me and see a mixture of clothing strewn across the room. One of my new sandals fell into a fishbowl with one of those bug-eyed goldfish who is doing his best to keep his distance from the invading footwear. I find my phone on the floor just below me in a tumble of clothing that looks like my jeans from the night before. I sigh. At least I have my phone. 

    I look down. It appears that I lost both my bra and my sexy new top. I’m not naked (thankfully) but the only thing I’m wearing is his stag t-shirt from the night before. 

    I look up. 

    Hanging above me from the blade of a ceiling fan is a small triangle of pink lace. 

    My underwear.

    Groaning, I put my hands over my eyes. How much did I have to drink?

    I look around for something to help me retrieve my underwear, and find a broom in the corner, lying on the ground next to a bookshelf. Perfect! 

    The mattress creaks beneath me as I stand. On unstable legs, I walk around the various college paraphernalia on his bedroom floor: tennis shoes, textbooks, a waste paper basket full of incomplete drafts of essays and other assignments. A container of fish food, the lid broken off by my other shoe.

    Poor fish.

    I look over and see his fish is named Archimedes.

    “Poor Archie,” I whisper. “I promise I’ll buy you some more.”

    He bubbles at me defiantly. I think he is a bit miffed at me. But that’s silly. Goldfish don’t have feelings, right? Maybe he’s mad about my sandal scraping the bottom of his bowl.

    I don’t have time to worry about it as I get ready to make my escape. It is embarrassing enough that I woke up in the room of some stranger (who probably gave me herpes or who knows what else). But I didn’t want him to think I was expecting anything out of him by staying here past my welcome. With my luck, he most likely goes to my school. At least I didn’t need to worry about him being in any of my classes, I mean, he can’t be older than a freshman.

    Oh my god, I cannot believe I slept with a freshman!

    As I bend down to reach for the broom, I feel a warm presence behind me. He places his hands on my hips and pulls me into him. I can feel his hardness pressing into me, telling me he is more than happy to find me here in the morning. 

    “Is this okay?” he pauses, his touch light. 

    “That depends,” I ask as I move away from him, turning to stare at him directly in the eyes. His eyes are a startling blue, like the feather of a stellar jay. I have never seen eyes so beautiful. 

    He smirks down at me, waiting.

    “How old are you?” I query.

    He laughs, deep and pure, like the ringing of a large bell. “Old enough,” he answers.

    I don’t budge. I raise my eyebrows, waiting. 

    “I’m nineteen,” he crosses his heart. “I just look extremely young.”

    I look him up and down as I close the distance between us. His breath hitches. 

    I place my hand on his chest. He wears a Celtic knot necklace that dangles between his breasts. It looks old and worn, like a family crest. 

    “Is this okay,” I ask. Licking my lips as I stare first at his nipples, which grow small and hard at my gaze, and then up at his face.

    He gulps, and then nods. My feet arch as I go on tiptoe, pressing into his body as I reach to place a kiss on his moist, wet lips. “And is this okay….” I pause. I realize I don’t know his name.

    “Arthur,” he gulps again. “Arthur Drake.”

    “Arthur.”

    I lean closer, but before our lips touch, he places a single finger on my lips. A large red stone catches the light on what looks like a class ring. “Can I know your name?” he whispers, almost gulping again. 

    “Faye,” I speak into his lips, “Faye Archer.”

    I claim his lips as I wrap my legs around his waist.

    He walks us back to the bed. 

    Last night was for the moonlight. An unremembered revelry. 

    The morning is for us.

If only we knew what would happen next…maybe we would have chosen differently.