That night, as Jean lay in bed, thoughts of her untimely attempt to talk to Bryson earlier that evening continued to play in her head. What was she thinking? Jillian had been right, of course. Introducing herself while he was on a date was the wrong time to talk to him. She sighed deeply. Wanting to get the whole thing over with had been at the forefront of her mind, so she jumped in.
“I should have waited until he was alone…at work…or something like that,” she said aloud to no one. Glancing at the digital clock on the night stand, she cringed. One o’clock a.m. She rolled over, hunkered down under the blanket, and shut her eyes to attempt sleep.
Minutes went by and limbo started to rock her to sleep, when a knock on her apartment door rendered her wide awake once more. “Seriously?” Flipping the covers back, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, slunk her feet into their slippers, and threw a housecoat around her shoulders.
At the door she looked through the peephole. It was Bryson. “What the hell?” she whispered. At this hour? Maybe she had an effect on him after all. Her heart raced as she placed her hand on the door knob, twisted it, and pulled it open.
“Bryson? What are you doing here at this hour?” asked Jean.
“What. You’re not pleased to see me?”
“Well, yeah, but…”
“Then what’s the problem? I wanted to see you.”
Before she knew it, he had crossed the threshold and clicked the door shut.
(To Be Continued)