Page 21 of Faking the Pass
No wonder Presley was watching me so closely.
Grabbing my dress from where it lay in a heap on the floor, I stepped into it and struggled to pull it on.
And I babbled an excuse.
“I’m so sorry. I never would have come here if I’d known it was your house. Wilder said it would be empty for the next week or so, and I needed a place to stay for a day or two where the paparazzi wouldn’t find me, and I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I was planning to clean it all up before I went, and oh—”
I cringed as a tidal wave of embarrassment crashed over me. “Sorry about the cupcakes. And the wine. I hope that wasn’t some rare vintage or something. I’ll replace it. I’ll ship a case of it here when I get back to California.”
Not only had I invaded his home and his bedandflashed him my bridal lingerie, I’dstolenhis food and alcohol.
“That won’t be necessary.”
Presley’s tone was slightly bemused as he looked at me from under his lowered brows.
I held the back of the dress together with one hand and stretched the other arm behind me, grappling for the zipper.
“Do you need a hand with that, or…”
“No. God no,” I blurted.
I renewed my efforts to redress myself in the ridiculously complicated gown.
It had taken ateamof people to wrangle me into it this morning, so I wasn’t sure why I would think I could miraculously assemble it on my own now.
While hungover. With a head injury.
After another few seconds of watching my futile attempts, Presley crossed the room to a dresser, opened it, and withdrew a folded white t-shirt.
He walked back over to me and offered it. “Another option… if you want it.”
I dropped the heavy dress and heaved a sigh. “Thank you.”
Then I took the t-shirt and pulled it over my head. It was huge, Presley-sized, falling nearly to my knees.
At least I was decent now.
His gaze flicked over me in a speedy assessment.
“Reminds me of when you wore my jersey to school on game day. Remember that?”
From his frown, it wasn’t ahappymemory for him.
“No,” I lied. “I’ll be out of your way in a few minutes. Just let me call an Uber.”
Dropping my head back onto my shoulders, I blew out a frustrated breath.
“I don’t have my phone. I left it back at Bellevue Manor. Do you mind if I borrow yours?”
“I wouldn’t mind a bit,” Presley said, “if it wasn’t dead. My nephew was conducting a physics experiment today, two-year-old style.”
Rubbing his chin, he said, “I could drive over to Bellevue Manor and get yours for you. But they’re gonna be closed up for the night. It’s late. Also, I’m on some pretty heavy pain meds, so I probably shouldn’t drive.”
He looked me over. “You’re in no shape to drive tonight either. Besides the knock on your head, you’ve been a little overserved. Orself-served, I should say. I wouldn’t think someone your size would even be able to hold that much wine.”
I wanted to roll under the bed and hide—or better yet sink through the floor into the bedrock supporting the house.
“Well, it’s not myusualserving size. I had a… very bad day.”
