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The Embarrassing Tale of My Failed One-Night Stand...and Why I Broke Into His Apartment the Next Day

Here are some things you just can't leave behind.

By Nicole Karlis

Isat anxiously in the conference room strategizing with my co-workers, except this time it wasn't for our boss. We were plotting how to get my jean jacket back from the guy I'd stumbled home with the night before.

"You can't go back for that jacket," one said. "That's insane."

They unanimously agreed: When you leave something behind at a guy's apartment—one who was very obviously into it for the casual hook-up only—the chances of seeing said item again are slim. I understood that. But this was perfectly crinkled denim blue with sleeves that gently held onto my wrists even when I raised my arms.

A jacket of all trades that I could dress up with an LBD or down with yoga pants. A little guardian that hugged my waist when temperatures dropped on foggy San Francisco nights.

"I'm going to get that jacket back," I declared.

"I want you to put your drink down and come home with me right now, where I'll throw you on my bed and slowly undress you."

I only knew a handful of details about the man who was unknowingly keeping it captive: His name was Cameron, he had a head full of curly brown hair, and I had his apartment address—thanks to my Uber receipt.

The situation with Cameron was an odd one from the start. I'd had a few drinks with my coworkers and we'd headed to a bar you only go to if you're drunk enough. It was dark and dirty, but not in a trendy San Francisco way. The establishment's main attraction is a wheel you spin for $10; whatever cocktail the wheel lands on, you have to drink.

We spun many wheels. And sometime in between them is when Cameron sauntered over to me.


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