Page 20 of Claiming Ours
Did I eat sand or gravel at some point between the bar and… wait, where am I?
The waft of cooking food had my stomach growling, distracting me from that very important—and concerning that I didn’t know the answer to—question.
My palm fell on the pillow, allowing the sunlight to pierce through my closed lids in my lame attempt to ease my eyes into what I knew needed to happen next. Almost like someone glued them shut while I slept, it took several attempts for me to peel both heavy lids open. After rubbing the heels of both hands against my eyes to clear my fuzzy vision, I relaxed when details ofmyroom, not some stranger’s, came into focus.
The metal bedframe creaked in protest when I flopped onto my back and stared at the ceiling while flickers of memories played like highlight footage of the embarrassing moments. This time, the sound that escaped was a true whimper from sheer humiliation. Why did I share all those personal and TMI things with my friends—and bonus, continue after Liam and the other guys showed up?
It was official. I only had two viable options.
Either allow this brutal hangover to kill me like I was almost certain it was or move out of the beautiful state so I would never have to face anyone from yesterday again. At least those were the only logical choices to avoid everyone from Anchor Bay.
Tossing a forearm over my eyes, I rolled my head side to side in slow, disapproving shakes at my dumb ass.
“What in the hell were you thinking, you oversharing twit?” My arm slid off, and I blinked at the ceiling. “Not only did you tell everyone in this tiny, gossipy town that you’re a virgin, because fuck knows you said nothing quietly last night, but bonus”—I held up a single finger in the air—“you told the hottest man you’ve ever known and have a massive crush on that you wanted to lick him like a Tootsie Pop. Who says that?”I squeaked. “Unstable people, that’s who. Fucking hell, woman, you should be put out to pasture where you can’t embarrass yourself and others.”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I attempted to remember any details after we left Dave’s in Liam’s truck, but I couldn’t remember a single thing. Awesome.
Peeking open a single eyelid, I scanned the familiar bedroom and the empty spot beside me on the bed. A heavy weight sank in my stomach, and tears gathered in my lower lids. Why the hell was I disappointed that Liam wasn’t here beside me?
That disappointment quickly morphed into pulse-racing anxiety. What if my oversharing and calling him a piece of candy displayed my brand of crazy like he’d never seen before, and he decided I wasn’t worth it? Which would make sense, except the aroma of cooking meat told me someone was here, and who else would be cooking me breakfast but Liam? Maybe I was jumping to conclusions and Liam didn’t leave me all alone last night, uncaring about my intoxicated state.
Elbows pressed into the soft mattress, I eyed the baby blue scrubs I clearly slept in. That meant Liam was either an utter gentleman and helped me to bed, not wanting me to feel vulnerable this morning knowing he undressed me, or he was so fucking annoyed at my drunk ass that he got me into bed and left.
I absentmindedly rubbed my cracked lips together. Liam leaving me dangerously drunk and alone didn’t sound like something he would do, even if I was irritating as fuck in my inebriated state. So why would that scenario even come to mind?
Realization dawned even through the brain fog and lingering alcohol, making my brain sluggish.
Because in the past, that was the way Dean treated me and made me feel in comparable situations. In high school and during those breaks when I came home while in college, if wewere together and I drank a little too much, Dean would ensure I got to bed safely, then leave to keep hanging out with our friends. My stomach soured at those memories of being alone and so sick or feeling like a burden who was just deposited in bed and left alone with the bare minimum of care given. Not sure why I just realized that when he did that, I subconsciously felt like an obligation instead of someone he loved or cherished.
Blowing out a heavy breath, which I immediately regretted when my toxic breath singed up my nose, I mustered up the energy to swing both legs out of the bed. As the tips of my toes brushed against the soft rug that protected my feet from the cold floor all year round, a loud, inhuman growl rumbled around the room and physically trembled my gut. Apparently, my stomach demanded that I locate the source of the yummy smells immediately. Greasy food would cure me like it had countless times in the past. Well, except for the mortification that would no doubt take a lifetime to recover from.
Grumbling under my breath about never drinking again, I raked my fingers through my long hair, wincing when they snagged on a rat’s nest of tangles that somehow formed while I was passed out.
Okay, first things first: Brush my teeth because my mouth is disgusting, then do something with my crazy hair before hunting down food.
Palms to the mattress, I pushed off the bed and shuffled toward the adjoining bathroom. A flick of the switch doused the dark bathroom in light, and I instantly regretted the decision.
One look at my reflection made leaving Anchor Bay and never returning my only viable option. Fucking hell, it looked like I’d pulled all-nighters for a week straight. I scrambled away from the mirror, slapping at the light switch as if that would solve all my problems.
Thankfully, the sunlight pouring from the bedroom into the bathroom offered enough light that I was able to get ready without having to stare at my horrifying reflection. Waiting for the faucet water to heat, I brushed out my long hair with one hand and attacked my grimy teeth with the other, ensuring both were decent before cleaning up my raccoon eyes and smeared lipstick. By some Alaskan miracle, the lukewarm water I splashed on my face helped clear the lingering brain fog while the few sips straight from the faucet started to settle my rolling stomach.
Soft cotton absorbed the drops rolling down my cheeks and jaw as I patted my face dry. I glanced at my reflection and winced. I didn’t look like death anymore, but I sure as hell didn’t look great.
Knowing it was as good as it was going to get for now, I started for the kitchen, hoping my assumptions were right about Liam being the one cooking and not some random person. The hardwood floor chilled the bottoms of my bare feet, each step barely making a sound as I padded across the bedroom.
The second I opened the slightly ajar door, the delicious smell of bacon wafted over me. Fingers still gripping the knob, I squeezed my eyes shut and then opened them wide, fairly sure I was seeing things. Great things. Sexy things.
Fuck, maybe I’m still passed out, and this is a dream.
But no matter how many times I blinked, the scene in front of me didn’t change. The sexy-as-hell Liam was truly in my kitchen, an apron tied around his waist, standing in front of the stove and flipping sizzling bacon in a pair of Wranglers that hugged his oh-so-perfect ass and the red flannel shirt he had on last night, unbuttoned with no undershirt.
Gray eyes met mine and a smirk pulled at his lips, no doubt loving that he caught me staring. I wiped at my lower lip to makesure no drool had escaped since my mouth was literally hanging open while I eye-fucked him.
“Good morning.” He chuckled when I winced at his loud, deep voice.
“Shhh, too loud,” I rasped, allowing my fingers to slide off the doorknob as I shuffled toward the kitchen.
“I plugged in your phone last night; it’s on the counter. Looked like you’ve missed a lot of unknown number calls.” He eyed the phone with suspicion before looking up, his features softening. I could see the lingering questions he wanted to ask about the calls, his past making him wary not his trust in me. “How are you feeling?”
