Gael woke up with a blaring headache at seven in the morning, and the events from the night before came crashing down on him. He let out a long and heavy exhale as he recalled.

He barely slept after leaving Angela's room, so his head was slightly muddled. When he thought that Angela was done for the evening and finally getting rest, she began to bawl her eyes out. Her emotions were too heightened that whatever imaginary friend named Bloop visited her that night got her crying when she said Bloop had left.

The effects of getting high would be different for every person or every instance. Some may have bad trippings, and their anxiety levels would rise through the roof; others would have a good time—like Angela had last night—giggling the whole night and was just in a good mood. But one common denominator was the sensitivity, delayed reaction, or overreaction. So while she had her giggling moments, she spiraled down to being depressed over something that didn't even exist.

But Gael took it all and was patient the whole time she cried on his chest. He even felt bad that her imaginary friend left her and felt lonely—thus the crying. And after leaving a big wet mess on his shirt, Angela fell asleep and was snoring while hugging him tightly as though she was afraid that it was him who'd leave next.

He didn't mind her clinginess. He actually loved that she needed him—until she unconsciously slid her hand under his shirt and began stroking his abdomen, causing him to stiffen. She was asleep, of course, so she couldn't have known she was doing it.

Her touching didn't help calm him down at all. He had been sporting a hard-on since she gave him a clumsy striptease that led her to straddle him. Her hand was warm, and part of him wanted to push her hand southward and inside his pants to where it should be. So he'd had blue balls since he decided to be a good boy because good boys don't do that. He couldn't take advantage of her state.

Lying next to her that close without touching her like he wanted was torture—like the first night she stayed in his house. So just like that first night, he carefully rolled out of bed after he made sure she was already in a deep sleep, replacing his spot with a pillow that she hugged tightly before leaving the room.

If he were still smoking, he would have already smoked several sticks to ease the tension. Gael thought about drinking a shot, but he stopped himself and thought he had enough for the evening, so he went to his bedroom and took a shower instead.

And against his better judgment, he jerked off while thinking about her straddling him with her tits before his eyes just like what she did, only in his imagination, he didn't stop her. He'd flipped her on her back and took control, sank inside her, and fucked her like there was no tomorrow.

You think that would've helped him? Apparently not. Because he was still hard even after the partial relief in the shower—especially knowing that Angela was right next door.

Gael twisted and turned in bed as he stared at the locked doorknob. Angela was dangerous when high. The woman confessed she "really really" liked having sex with him and even initiated one after doing a striptease. He must have been out of his mind that he'd turned her down. And now, all he could think about was how stupid he was that he'd turned her down—more stupid that he thought locking the door would help stop his fantasies from playing in his head.

So the following day, he was groggy from having only a few hours of sleep. He took two Tylenols and washed up. After checking in on Angela by peeking into her room and seeing that she was still asleep, he made himself some coffee in the kitchen and decided to throw himself to work.

***

The urge to pee woke Angela up at a quarter past eight in the morning. She didn't have a headache, but she felt so drained that taking steps towards the bathroom was like a chore. After relieving herself and washing her face, she drank a whole bottle of water to moisten her dry throat. She was standing next to a mirror as she drank and saw her appearance, noticing the puffy eyes. That's when she remembered what happened last night.

Her eyes widened as she slammed the bottle on the nightstand, the scenes from her stoned state from last night flashing in her head. "Oh. My. God."

Angela thought her heart would break free from her chest—what with the way it was beating frantically from the guilt and embarrassment she was feeling. She'd said too much and done too much! Her eyes darted at the clock on the wall and figured—no, hoped and prayed that Gael was still sleeping. It was still early, right?

Perhaps she could prepare breakfast for him as an apology, promising herself that she wouldn't set the house on fire. She swallowed. Maybe coffee and toast would be okay? She was nervous, and cooking might not be the best thing to do at the moment.

After giving herself a pep talk, Angela left the bedroom and exhaled a sigh of relief when she saw that his bedroom door was still closed. She came downstairs and walked into the kitchen, heading straight to the refrigerator to check what was available. She only managed to reach the island counter when a deep voice greeted her from behind, and she jumped.

"Good morning."

Slowly, she turned around and saw Gael at the dining table. His arms were folded across his chest, and his long legs were extended in front of him and crossed at the ankles. He wore a navy blue sweater, black lounge pants, and an unreadable expression that made the hair stand up on the back of her neck.

"G-Good morning," she responded and swallowed her nervousness down her throat.

"How was your sleep?"

"I-It was okay. I was just… Ummm… I was…" She turned around and headed towards the refrigerator. She couldn't look him in the eyes because she was too guilty. "I was thirsty and…"

Before she could open the refrigerator door, she felt his looming presence behind her, and then he placed his hand on the door, stopping her from opening it. "And?"

When Angela looked away, his lip twitched, a smirk threatening to appear. He took out a bottle of water from the fridge and handed it to her. "Here."

"Thanks." She received the bottle, only briefly glancing at him before looking away again. 'Fudge.' It felt like her skin was on fire with the way he stared at her like she did something wrong—well, she did do something wrong, and that's why she felt so guilty and embarrassed.

The air was silent for a few beats until she couldn't take the pressure anymore, so she faced him. Folding her arms under her breasts, her brows knitted as she barked, "Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like that!"

Gael raked his eyes over her figure—from head to toe and then back again. A slow grin formed on his lips. "Like I really…really…really…want to—"

Angela's hand flew to his lips. "Stop! Fine! Oh my god! Just stop!"

His shoulder shook as he laughed and lowered her hand from his face. Her eyes reddened, and she pouted.

Sighing, she began to speak, "I'm sorry about last night. I didn't mean to get high…"

He leaned against the counter. "Tell me what happened."

"I think I caught a cold yesterday. I was sneezing and couldn't really taste or smell anything, so I didn't know the cookies had weed in them. I'd already eaten a few before I realized it. I should've known—they were called Happy Cookies." She rolled her eyes and leaned against the counter next to him. "I made a fool of myself to you last night…"

"You did."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay." He took her hand and squeezed it.

Biting her bottom lip, she hesitated before she spoke again. "And…thanks for stopping me when I tried to…" Her voice trailed off, though it was pretty obvious what she was referring to.

Gael took a deep breath and let out a long sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. "It wasn't easy."

"I know…"

"I don't want to force it. But I'm there, Angel… Always have been. So whenever you're ready."

Angela felt better after talking to him, but she couldn't help feeling the heaviness in her chest. He'd been so understanding, and she wished she could give him more. "I'd like to take it slow…" she said. "For now…"

Nodding, he smiled at her and kissed her forehead. "There's coffee in the pot and food on the table. I need to take a shower."

"Thank you."

The playfulness on his face returned when he smirked. Gael pushed himself off the counter and strolled away, speaking without turning his head. "No… Thank you… I'll be really…really…really…enjoying my shower while thinking of you. Like really…really…"

Angela groaned. "You're not gonna let this go, are you?"

A devilishly handsome smile danced on his lips. "Nope. I really won't."