Page 26 of Wrecked
Focus, dammit.
Nothing but a big black hole sat where my memory should've been. Panic forced my lids apart, and despite the stinging in my eyes and throbbing of my skull, I sat up. As my blurred surroundings became clear, my heart thundered in my chest.
I gathered the gray sheet in my hands and clutched it close to my body as I scanned the unfamiliar room. A wooden desk stood in front of a large window covered with blinds that were only half open. I squinted to try to make out what was beyond the glass but other than a few trees, I saw nothing.
I turned my attention to the opposite side of the room and there, too, was a blind-covered window. In front of it stood a ball foot dresser in rich mahogany and an oval-shaped single-seater. Terrified, I dropped the sheet and almost screamed when I noticed I wasn't wearing my clothes but rather something that looked like a man's t-shirt.
What did I do?
Shame bubbled to the surface and stung the back of my eyes. I'd always prided myself in the fact that I wasn't a one-night stand girl or a cheating one. Apparently, I'd been wrong. Angrily, I swiped at the tears trickling down my cheeks.
No use in crying now. I had to pull up my big-girl panties and face the consequences of my actions—whoever he may've been. Gingerly, I slipped from the bed and scanned the floor for strewn about clothes and found nothing.
I rushed to the door, pulled it open and slammed straight into a six-foot-three wall of wet muscle.
Wait, what?
The first thing that came into view was my spread fingers on top of some very fine pecs. My gaze traveled up, and I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from gasping at the sight of Brett staring down at me, brows drawn together and jaw ticking.
I tried to step back, and when I couldn't, I realized his arm snaking around my waist tethered me to him. The muscles in his chest jumped, it took all my willpower not to flex my fingers and test them.
We were standing so close that I could see his nostrils flare and I bet he could hear my heart's wild gallop. My mouth suddenly felt even drier than it had when I'd woken up a couple of minutes ago. I slid my tongue over my lips, and immediately Brett's eyes followed the action. I saw him work down a swallow before his ticking jaw picked up speed.
Brett released me and took a few steps back, but his gaze lingered, slowly traveling the length of me. He dragged a hand through his damp hair before he shoved both into his sweatpants' pockets. My eyes were drawn to the 'K'inked on his chest and then the beads of sweat sliding down his skin, disappearing into his pants.
I swallowed hard.
"How are you feeling?" His voice sounded strained.
Wrapping my arms around myself, I confessed, "Besides the fact that elephants are doing the can-can inside my skull, I don't remember a thing."
Eyes narrowed, he studied me for a few seconds. "Nothing?"
The way he asked it made my skin tingle with uneasiness. Again, I was left with the same question, "What happened last night? The last thing I remember was telling Lizzy and Harper I felt sick."
Brett seemed lost in thought as he glanced out the window. Looking back at me, he shrugged his shoulders. "Those cocktails are pretty strong and as I recall, you never really could handle your drink."
I wanted to stand tall and protest, but he wasn't wrong. In fact, the only other time I'd been drunk was when I was with him. Memories of the morning after came rushing back, and I had to avert my gaze.
Everything from that morning was so ingrained in me, I swear if I closed my eyes I'd still be able to feel his hands gliding along my skin and his mouth teasing me, tasting me. That morning wasn't only the first time we'd made love, but it was also when I'd learned that sex was about so much more than two people seeking a release. It was about hearts intertwining and souls weaving together.
"Take these."
I blinked, and Brett stood before me, two tiny pills in one hand and bottled water in the other. Apparently, I'd been so lost in my thoughts that I hadn't even heard him move. "How did I end up here—" I looked down at the shirt I was wearing, "—wearing this?"
Brett's eyes flitted to the pills in his hand before his gaze met mine again. Only when I took the medication did he speak, "Mrs. D doesn't like it when her guests show up drunk," he shrugged again as if his rising and falling shoulders were all the explanation I needed. "As for the shirt, I couldn't let you sleep covered in sick."
By my apparent behavior, one would think I was back in College. I immediately thought of my parents and Dean and how ashamed they'd be of me. Purposefully, I searched Brett's eyes for something that resembled shame or even anger, but to my surprise, I didn't find it.
What I did find was perplexing, to say the least.
I shook my head, thinking my very hungover mind was playing tricks on me. There was no way that I'd seen longing in his eyes. I checked again, just to be sure but this time I was met with an emotionless veil.
Brett stepped back and headed toward his kitchen, I followed. He opened the fridge and soon disappeared from view. Feeling a little less intimidated, I muttered, "Thank you." A second later he reappeared, his arms loaded with food only barely hiding that delectable chest of his.
"No thanks needed," he said dryly as he placed eggs, tomatoes, and capsicums on the counter. "I just did what any decent person would." He moved to the other side of the kitchen where he grabbed two onions and a few spice bottles. Those, too, joined the rest of the items on the counter.
That awkwardness was back again, and as I looked around his cozy little kitchen, I found myself jealous of the woman who got to share this space with him. A frown formed on my forehead, I shouldn't be thinking or feeling things like that. "Lola isn't mad?"
