[A few days later...]
Charlie shuffled out of his room like a man returning from war. His hair was wild. His shirt was inside out. He wore a polka dot pyjama pants. (It was the only thing he could grab in the darkness) His eyes squinted like a vampire seeing daylight for the first time. He paused at the top of the stairs, gripping the banister like it might run away if he didn't hold on.
The sunlight poured through the balcony doors. It hit him square in the face.
He hissed.
From the living room, Berta looked up mid-dusting, one eyebrow arched like it had a mind of its own.
"Well, look who finally crawled out of Mount Lustmore," she said, slapping her duster against the coffee table. "I was about to send in a rescue team or at least an air freshener."
Charlie blinked at her like she was speaking in riddles.
"Is it still Tuesday?" he asked.
"It's Friday," Berta replied, crossing her arms. "And I cleaned around your door twice. Thought you two died. I even knocked once. Heard a noise. Decided I didn't want to know."
Charlie slowly made his way down the stairs, every step like a man discovering gravity for the first time.
"I'm out of electrolytes and hope," he muttered.
Berta gave him a long once-over. "You look like a sex-dehydrated raccoon."
Charlie reached the bottom step and leaned against the wall like it was emotionally supporting him. "Thank you, Berta. That's exactly the vibe I was going for."
"Seriously, what went on up there?" she asked, gesturing to the ceiling. "Sounded like Cirque du Soleil had a three-way with a blender and a foghorn."
Charlie stared at her for a beat. "Lisa took a couple of days off. And, well... we took it seriously."
Berta walked over to the fridge, yanked it open like it owed her money, and grabbed a bottle of cold water. She tossed it across the room without even looking. Charlie caught it midair, barely.
"Bless you," he croaked, then shuffled like a melting scarecrow over to the couch. He collapsed into it with the kind of sigh usually reserved for funeral mourners or DMV lines.
He cracked the cap, chugged half the bottle, then stared blankly at the ceiling.
"Two days," he mumbled. "Two entire days. I think my hips filed for retirement."
Berta didn't miss a beat. "I found one of your socks on the kitchen counter. How the hell did that happen?"
Charlie blinked slowly. "We didn't even use the kitchen... Wait! Yeah, that's a funny story actually, after Alan left..."
"Well, I don't want to know." Berta turned and headed toward the laundry room with a basket full of what looked like her clothes. Charlie wanted to say something, but decided not to since he was lacking the stamina to even move his mouth after all that oral session.
As soon as she disappeared, he sighed again and gently pressed the ice-cold bottle against his crotch. His eyes fluttered shut in pure, primal relief.
"Ohhh yeah," he moaned. "That's the stuff. Who needs ice packs when you've got purified mountain spring?"
Just then, Lisa walked downstairs wearing her green nightgown. She was looking like a woman who'd just had a spa day instead of whatever post-apocalyptic sex marathon had actually happened.
Charlie peeked at her from under one eye.
"How are you walking?" he asked.
Lisa grinned. "Yoga. And potassium. And you did all the hard work."
Charlie looked at her for a moment and narrowed his eyes.
"I have bruises in weird places, Lisa. I'm talking elbow freckles."
She leaned down, kissed his forehead, then gave the cold bottle on his groin a curious glance.
"… That better be water or I'm calling a doctor."
Charlie nodded solemnly. "Hydration and emergency crotch therapy. It's a multitasker."
Lisa walked off, completely unfazed, mumbling something about needing to shower and clean up the room.
Just then, Berta returned, arms crossed.
"You done soaking your man marbles?"
Charlie looked up at her, still dazed. "Berta… if I die tonight, bury me face-down so the world can kiss my ass."
Berta smirked. "Nah. I'll cremate you. Way cheaper. Sprinkle your ashes in the Jacuzzi where you probably lost your last shred of dignity."
Charlie gave a slow, defeated nod.
"Fair."
He sank deeper into the couch, bottle still parked in the danger zone, and closed his eyes like he was about to hibernate.
Berta looked at him for a second longer.
Then walked away, muttering, "Two days of sex and this man acts like he ran a marathon in a volcano."
From the couch, Charlie whispered, "I was the volcano…"
And passed out.
[Around Noon]
Charlie blinked back into consciousness like a man rising from a coma. He wasn't sure how long he'd been out, but his mouth was dry, his back ached, and he was 90% sure his spine had fused to the couch. The cold water bottle had rolled off his lap sometime during his nap and was now forming a suspicious wet patch on the rug. Classic.
He groaned, sat up slowly, and immediately regretted it. His hips clicked like an old floorboard. His abs felt like they'd been punched by a Muay Thai fighter. His brain? A foggy soup of sex haze and sleep deprivation.
Then his phone chimed.
Charlie squinted at the screen.
Laura:
Hey handsome. Just confirming — lunch at 1:30, right? I picked out something cute 😉
Charlie stared at the message for a full ten seconds.
Lunch.
1:30.
The promise. The date. The Laura.
"Son of a..." he muttered, rubbing his temples. "I forgot. Shit!"
He checked the time. 12:01.
He had exactly 89 minutes to pull himself together, pretend he hadn't spent the last 48 hours being slowly disassembled by Lisa, and go on a charming, composed, full-attention date with the heavily tattooed, emotionally invested, sexually feral woman with probably a little daddy issues.
No pressure.
Charlie dragged himself to his feet like Frankenstein's monster testing out new bolts.
He shuffled to the bathroom, splashed water on his face, and stared at his reflection. Hair: tragic. Eyes: bloodshot. Skin: dehydrated. Vibe: corpse with a hangover.
He brushed his teeth aggressively, trying to feel human again. Took a quick shower. Then put on the best "I'm fine, everything's fine" outfit he could find, dark jeans, a white shirt (buttoned all the way up to look responsible), and the suede jacket Lisa once called "hot professor chic."
By 12:45, he was dressed, sprayed, semi-awake, and contemplating drinking a Red Bull while applying IcyHot to his thighs.
Lisa passed through the hallway, holding reusable bags and car keys. "Date with Laura?" She asked.
"Yup! Wish me luck," Charlie answered.
"You'll need more than luck. Still, good luck. Well, I'm hitting the store. Need anything?"
Charlie forced a smile. "Maybe a coffin. Or a second spine."
She snorted. "Okay, drama queen. I'll grab kale and protein bars."
"Kale is not the answer," Charlie called after her, but she was already gone.
Once the door shut, he sat down and mentally prepared himself for the challenge ahead.
"This is fine," he told himself.
"I've done worse. I once wrote a jingle while drunk, high, and getting a foot massage. This is just a date. With a woman who adores me. Whose needs I've been ignoring. And who's probably planning to climb me like a jungle gym. Easy."
His phone buzzed again.
Laura:
I'm excited 🖤 Wear that cologne I like. And maybe leave a few buttons open 😘
Charlie closed his eyes.
"This is gonna kill me," he muttered.
He stood up again, cracked his neck, grabbed his wallet and keys, and staggered toward the door with the determination of a man walking into a very sexy war.
As he left the house, he whispered under his breath:
"Okay, Harper. Round two. Don't die."
And off he went.
..
[Restaurant]
Charlie walked in trying his best to look casual and not like every step made his knees question his life choices. The place was calm and classy, full of white linens and ocean air wafting through the open windows. Sea salt, grilled fish, and money. Classic Malibu lunch hour.
Then he saw her.
Laura sat by the window, sunlight hitting her like a magazine shoot. She wore a cobalt blue dress, sleeveless, snug at the waist, with a neckline that flirted with indecency but never crossed the line. Her legs were crossed in a way that made Charlie's survival instincts scream and cheer at the same time.
Her hair was done in loose curls, falling over one shoulder. Her tattoos peeked out just enough to remind you she could break your heart or your nose, depending on her mood.
She looked up and smiled. "Hey, stranger."
Charlie gave a lopsided grin. "Wow. You're really leaning into the 'temptation with a side of trouble' look today."
Laura shrugged one bare shoulder. "You said lunch. I said fashion."
Charlie slid into the seat across from her, trying to mask how slowly he was lowering himself into the chair. "You look... devastating. That's a compliment and a medical alert."
Before she could respond, a familiar voice interrupted.
"Oh, it's been a while, Sir," said Bobby, the tired waiter who'd served Charlie through years of first dates, breakups, hangovers, and brunches with hungover jingle executives. He held a notepad as usual with his signature polite smile. He then noticed, like always. "Oh. One clearly in pain. The other clearly in charge. Just like old times."
Charlie nodded. "We missed you too, Bobby."
Bobby didn't smile. "Drink order?"
"Coffee," Charlie said immediately. "Black."
Laura smiled at Bobby. "I'll have iced tea. Unsweetened."
Bobby jotted it down without looking up. "Food?"
Charlie pointed blindly at the menu. "Whatever that is. Surprise me."
Laura didn't even open hers. "Grilled salmon salad. No onions."
Bobby gave a grunt that might have meant "got it" or "kill me" and disappeared.
Charlie looked back at Laura, still trying to catch his breath from just existing. "So. Sorry, I ghosted. Things got... intense."
Laura smirked. "Judging by the way you're shifting in that chair, things got very intense."
Charlie rested his elbow on the table, then quickly changed arms when it cramped. "I'm a shell of the man I used to be."
Laura leaned forward, her blue dress catching the light again. "Don't worry. I'm not expecting Cirque du Soleil. Just lunch. And maybe a little kissing after. You know. Something light."
Charlie stared at her for a second, then picked up his glass of water and drank the whole thing.
He was going to need it.
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[7 advance chs] [All chs available for all tiers] [No double billing.]
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[AN: Gotta stockpile some more chapters. So, I'll be back on Sunday with double update.]