Page 35 of Wild Stars

Your presence is required in the kitchen immediately following your shower.

It’s signed with just an M, and of course, included on the bottom of the card is fuckingdirectionsto the kitchen.

I twist my lips as heat floods my entire being and my stomach flips, and suddenly, I am assaulted by my blurred memories of the prior night.

Of Matty, loading me into his limo, and telling me we were going somewhere “safe.”

No wonder the card of instructions sounds so damn bossy.

I look at the tall glass of water and contemplate not doing what he says.

But my stomach growls, my head aches, and I feel hot and gross.

So I shove down the need to defy this asshole’s orders, take my damn ibuprofen, and find the glass of water tastes really good.

And I’m fucking parched.

I don’t get up immediately, though, because this bed is really fucking warm and soft, and I want to commit the feeling to memory.

I’m gonna shoot across the sky like a beam of light

Gonna ricochet off the walls of the night

The words come to me easily, but fuck...

Panic floods me as I realize I don’t know where my clothes are, or my phone.

I throw myself out of bed, regrettably.This guest room is huge, but it isn’t messy by any means, and I don’t see my clothes or my phoneanywhere.

Shit.

I make my way to the en suite bathroom, and I swear it’s bigger than my bedroom.

Decked out in black marble with gold etchings, the floor, wall, and shower all look like something out of one of those old epic movies.Like Cleopatra or some shit.

It’s still moody as fuck, but pretty.

Like Matty.

True to the card, there are dark blue towels—four to be exact—piled atop the black marble counter, next to what looks like a pair of gray sweatpants, a white shirt, and a pair of black boxer briefs.There’s even a pair of slides that look like they might actually fit my size thirteen feet.

It’s kind of weird, but also kind of comforting, and I hope he didn’t go too out of his way to find this stuff.

Who am I kidding, he probably has staff for this sort of thing.

I doubt Matty actually went to the trouble, given the fact he’s probably hungover as shit, too.

I don’t waste time as I climb into the shower, my headache already starting to ease up.

Guess the ibuprofen wasn’t such a bad idea.

Thankfully, the shower doesn’t take me too long to figure out, though it’s a little space age for my liking.After about five minutes of fumbling with the settings, I get it to a warm temperature, and the steam starts to build.The Eucalyptus hanging around the faucet makes the place smell like a spa, and I can’t help but close my eyes and relax for a moment as the hot water sluices over my skin.

There’s barely anything stocked in the shower, and I have no idea what dispenser is shampoo, conditioner, or body wash, so I eeny-meeny-miny-mo it and hope for the best.

Whatever the case, the stuff smells like fucking heaven.

It smells like Matty.

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