Page 16 of Not That Impossible

I had no idea…

“Adam?” I said.

He snatched the pillow off my head and I groaned again at the light. “What?” he said.

“I don’t remember getting here.”

There was the wedding, the reception, beer, something fuzzy that my brain was trying to shut down, and then…here.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t try,” Adam said. His voice faded as he went into the en suite bathroom. I heard him peeing. It went on and on and on. My bladder twinged in sympathy.

“Your poor mum didn’t have to get us up here, did she?” I said when he wandered back in. Mrs Blake was tiny. Strong, but tiny.

“She had help.”

I rolled over and Adam grinned at me. I raised a brow, and glanced down. Oh. I was naked. “Ew, I wasn’t naked in front of your mum, was I?”

“No, no. The clothes came off once she was gone.”

“Phew.”

Adam was still smiling.

“What?” I said suspiciously.

“Not a single thing, buddy.”

I managed to get myself into a sitting position, swayed a bit, then got up to standing and crept to the bathroom.

Adam wandered back in when I was still standing at the toilet.

“Do you mind?” I grumbled.

“You’re taking too long.” He reached into the shower and turned it on.

I eyed it with interest. Still peeing.

“I’m first,” Adam said. “Don’t even try getting in here with me.”

“We can’t both fit anymore,” I said with an eye-roll. I regretted it instantly. “Ow.”

Adam’s shower was a minuscule cubicle that was barely big enough for one person, let alone two.

“We can’t both fit in my bed anymore, either, but that didn’t stop you,” Adam said.

I grunted, finished up peeing—finally—and went to wash my hands and brush my teeth. Adam got in the shower and he moaned decadently as the hot water hit him. If there had been even an inch more room, I’d have been in there with him like a shot.

I settled for squeezing some toothpaste onto a shaky finger, and poking it half-heartedly around my teeth.

It was all a bit much in the effort department. I squeezed from the tube directly into my mouth, stuck my head under the tap to top up with water, and swished.

“I do have mouthwash,” Adam said from the shower, scrubbing shampoo through his mop of red-blond curls, flinging suds everywhere. “It’s right in front of you on the shelf.”

I gargled, and spat. “No more alcohol,” I said, clutching the taps to stay upright when the act of bending over and straightening up threatened to take me to my knees. “Ever, Adam.”

He snorted.

“I am turning over a new leaf,” I said.

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