Page 60 of The Player + The Pact = I Do

Someone needs to make it stop.

I pull the pillow from under my head and put it over my face, but inexplicably the fabric smells of Leo. Like smelling salts to a weak and wailing woman, it actually perks me up. I throw the pillow off and peel up one corner of the eye mask.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Leo says from the bottom of my bed. Jesus Christ, why is he in my bedroom? Did we… I can’t remember even getting home last night.

“Why are you—?” I glance at the inexplicable artwork behind him. That’s not the usual view I wake up to. I look left and right, then I pull the eye mask off completely and sit bolt upright. “This isn’t my room.”

Leo chuckles. He’s in a towel, his hair still damp fromthe shower. He looks so clean and fresh and so unlike how I feel, which is like someone threw me in a dumpster and shut the lid. “This is my room.”

“Why am I in your room?”

He shrugs. “You came in just after midnight. I’d already gone to bed, but you decided there was no time like the present to uh… thank me. Then you closed your eyes and sort of fell onto the bed.”

I cover my mouth with my hand. “Oh my god. I slept here?”

“It’s no big deal,” he says.

“Did we… did I… I mean, did anything?—”

“You fell asleep. I went back to sleep. The only thing either of us did was sleep. You weren’t capable of remaining upright, so once you timbered into bed, we were both out cold.”

I bite down on my bottom lip. “I’m a mess.” Having sex with your boss is one thing but passing out disheveled and incoherent is quite another.

“It was funny. And no big deal. Don’t sweat it.”

He heads back into his bathroom and I half roll, half crawl out of his bed. I’m still dressed in my outfit from last night. I clutch the top of my head. At least I’m not still wearing my bridal tiara. I immediately spot it on the nightstand and groan. I didn’t fall asleep wearing that, did I?

Leo reappears in soft gray joggers and a white t-shirt. I have an urge for a toothbrush and a Silkwood shower. “I’m going for coffee. No need to ask whether you want one. I’ll bring you two.”

I laugh and immediately regret it when it feels like my skull and my brain just suffered a high-speed collision. I hold the sides of my headwith my palms.

“Anything else or shall I just bring you back an assortment of carbs?”

I nod. “Sounds perfect. I’m going to try for a shower.”

He laughs, but it’s not at my expense—more of anI feel your pain, my friendkind of laugh. I smile slightly.

“See you in a bit.”

“You’re not ordering in?” I ask.

“I’ll run there and cab it back.”

I groan. The idea of fresh air, let alone exercise, makes me want to hurl. “Good for you,” I manage to croak.

As I pass him to head for a shower, he stops me and lifts my chin. “You’re a very cute drunk, you know that?”

If I felt ten percent better than I did, I’d grab his t-shirt and snuggle into it, thank him for trying to make me feel better. But I don’t. Not to mention, I still feel a little awkward for passing out in his bedroom.

“Cute is not what I’m feeling right now.”

“You’re always cute.” He presses a kiss to my forehead like he’s my boyfriend or something, then heads to the door. “If you think of anything you want while I’m gone, text me,” he calls over his shoulder.

I trudge to the shower, putting one foot only slightly in front of the other. Eventually, I’ll baby-step all the way across the apartment. If I don’t pick up speed, I won’t make it to my bedroom before he’s back.

But I do reach my bedroom. And I make it in and out of the shower before I hear the front door open. I pull on a t-shirt and some leggings and plod toward the kitchen.

“You were quick,” I say.

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