Page 20 of Faking the Pass
The deep male voice repeated my name, causing me to look up.
“Rosie, it’s me. Presley Lowe. It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you.”
He knelt beside me, removing my palm from my forehead. “Are you okay? Let me see it.”
Was I already dead?
Maybe that blow to the head had been harder than I realized.
But no, angels probably didn’t welcome you to the pearly gates with a baseball bat in hand—at least I hoped not.
“Presley?” I blinked at him several times. “Are you real? Or wait… is this… Hell?”
Of all people to see me at what was perhaps the lowest moment of my entire life, did itreallyhave to be Presley Lowe?
The guy I’d swooned over pretty much every day of high school, who’d finally noticed me in our senior year and had given me the most blissful three weeks of my young life.
The same guy who’d casually ended it and then crushed my soul by referring to me as a “flaky theater freak” in front of all his cool jock friends.
And now I’d gone and proved every word of that label.
Again.
He chuckled. “I’m real, but thanks for the flattering assumption. How’s your head? Any double vision or nausea?”
My hand went back to my face, probing my forehead, which hurt like hell, even though I was apparentlynotin the underworld.
What was he evendoinghere?
“Um… no. There’s only one of you,” I said.
I studied Presley’s handsome face, fighting a combination of hangover brain fog and sleep inertia—with a little head trauma thrown in for good measure.
“Why are you here?” I asked. “Did Wilder send you with my luggage?”
His head jerked back, and his mouth quirked in a perplexed expression.
“What? No, I’m here because this is my house, my bedroom. Why areyouhere?”
The fog cleared entirely as I realized what had happened.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” I sputtered. “When Wilder said the house was unoccupied right now and that it was a family property, I thought it was like a vacation place or something. He didn’t tell me youlivedhere.”
Presley nodded, his own expression clearing. “Wilder let you in.”
“I had surgery a few days ago, and I’ve been staying at my parents’ house,” he explained. “Wilder probably didn’t tell you it was my place because he didn’t want you to worry about anything, and knowing him, he had a good reason for sending you here. Want to tell me what’s going on?”
“Not… particularly.”
I didn’t want to be in his presence—and look at that ridiculously gorgeous face, which had somehow gotten evenmoreattractive over the years—a minute longer than necessary.
Getting to my feet, I staggered for a moment, trying to get my balance, before I began searching the floor for my belongings.
Presley reached out to steady me, placing a big hand on my shoulder. The warmth of it raised goosebumps all over my body.
“Go slow,” he advised. “You hit your head pretty hard there. In fact, you should probably sit down.”
Mortification heated my skin to scalding when I looked down at his hand on my bare arm and realized all I had on was thefancy bra and panties set I’d worn under my discarded wedding gown.
