Page 17 of Ace My Heart

I lay down, wondering if Steve planned on coming back tonight.I hated knowing he was mad at me, and he had every right to be. The apology was burning my throat. Or was that the vodka?

My phone beeped.

Brad: Hey Mel, ran into your coach in the foyer. He was about to throw down with Pete Levine, but security broke it up. Pete got into the lift, but Steve headed into the bar. Don’t expect him any time soon. Sleep well.

Well, there went my apologetic feelings. Steve had no right to be yelling at Pete – it wasn’t Pete’s fault that I’d played so badly! It was mine. He should have come up and screamed at me instead.

Clearly Steve had been drinking. He didn’t drink often, but a couple of times I’d seen him get very messy. I should go down and confront him before he started a brawl.

I struggled into an upright position, suddenly realising that I was a bit drunk too. Well, good. Nothing like a bit of Dutch Courage.

I picked up my crutches and lurched to the door, heading down the hallway towards the lift. Inside, as my finger paused over the button that would take me down to the ground floor, the last slug of vodka hit me. Squinting at the blurred number panel, I moved my finger and pressed another button instead.

CHAPTER FIVE

Lost

“Iam so sorry about Steve!” I exclaimed as soon as Pete opened the door. I didn’t even give him a chance to let it sink in that it was me leaning drunkenly outside the door of the apartment.

Pete looked me up and down, his eyes lingering on my boobs before flitting down to my ankle, all strapped up in the compression bandage.

“Don’t mention it,” he murmured. “How’s your ankle, gorgeous? That was a nasty fall.”

Pete crouched down and rested my right foot in his hand. His fingers trailed up my calf, sending delightful little shivers all the way through me. He looked up, his brown eyes blazing.

“I just feel really bad that Steve yelled at you,” I persisted. I vaguely registered the slurring in my voice. “Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

I tried my hardest to look sexy, despite the swollen ankle, the crutches, and the drunkenness.

Pete stood up and held the door wide open for me. “I can think of something you might be able to do.”

I shambled through the doorway, taking the initiative and heading straight for the bedroom. I sat down on the edge of the bed, propping the crutches against the wall and tearing off my singlet and bra.

Pete leaned against the frame of the door, watching me with his arms folded across his chest, a hot smile on his face. I pouted at him, sitting in my shorts and beckoning to him with one finger.

He walked over to the TV cupboard at the foot of the bed, where I could see an iPad, Pete’s phone and a whole bunch of the usual mess of a person who has been living out of a suitcase. I watched, vision blurry, as he fiddled with something on the cupboard, and when he turned around, music was playing quietly in the background.

“Nothing like some tunes to set the mood,” he purred as he pushed me back on the bed, and I forgot about everything else.

There was light streaming in through the open blind when I woke up. My mouth tasted like bile, and my head and my ankle were throbbing like nobody’s business. I had that dreadful moment where I was completely disoriented.

“Oh, God, where am I?” I grunted, sitting up, and then wishing I hadn’t when the room spun.

“Well, good morning sleepy!” Pete greeted me from the doorway, wearing nothing but a pair of boxer-briefs, a glass of water in one hand. He held it out to me, and I took it gratefully, guzzling it down greedily.

“Easy there, tiger!” Pete chuckled, taking the glass from me and kneeling down beside the bed. I blushed, realising that I was naked. It was stupid – I’d been naked the whole night. I winced as some of the things we’d done last night came back to me in mortifying bursts. And then I winced some more as the throbbing in my ankle intensified.

I looked down. Pete was very gently unravelling the compression bandage from my ankle, returning my gaze with a soft smile.

“I know it hurts, gorgeous, but if you want to take a shower the bandage has to come off. You want a hand to get in there?”

My eyes started to water. I blinked furiously at the tears, but Icouldn’t suppress the surge of gratitude that flooded me. Pete was acting really sweet …whywas Pete acting so sweet?

“I think I can make it, if you hand me the crutches,” I choked out. He stood up and held a hand out to me. I took it and he helped me lever myself off the bed. He held me steady with one hand while he propped the crutches under my arms. He walked in ahead of me and ran the shower, the steam billowing out.

“There you go,” he said. I handed him the crutches again and hopped into the cubicle. He draped a towel over the top and then left, closing the door behind him.

“Call me if you need me, okay?” I heard his muffled offer through the door.

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