You didn't intend for it to be a one-night stand.
Is it actually a one-night stand if you had gone on a handful of dates beforehand? A one-night stand was, by definition, sleeping with someone you just met and never seeing them again, wasn't it?
Well. There's no one to ask. You shouldn't have slept with him anyway.
The dates were fine, something to do a few nights a week. He took you to chain restaurants and you both paid for your own meals, so it's not like he expected anything from you. And you didn't expect it from yourself. It just happened.
You were surprised at how petite he actually was, considering his personality was larger than life. But as you sweated more from his silk sheets rather than the act itself, you felt deflated. You wanted to leave but he had driven you to his townhouse from the restaurant.
In the morning, you woke feeling groggy and unsettled. When he offered you a fresh, more casual shirt to wear home instead of your date blouse, which looked ridiculous in the harsh morning sun, you took it.
Pulling it over your head, you once again realized how petite he was. The racerback tank top fit you like a glove. A bright Hawaiian print edged in electric blue, you almost thought another girl had left it here before and he was pawning it off on you. But no, apparently it was from the men's department. Did that say more about you or him?
The shirt makes you feel like you're someone else. Someone better.
You don't text him when you get home, or the next day. He doesn't reach out until Monday. "Want to meet for dinner at 6? Bring my shirt back if you washed it."
You don't reply.
[prompt from The Rose Metal Press Field Guide to Writing Flash Fiction edited by Tara L. Masih]
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