Page 10 of Bad Luck, Hard Love
“A couple of cocktails,” Her hand falls to her stomach. “I’m not feeling so well myself.”
“Shit,” he swears. “You got a hotel room?”
The room spins more. The music’s pounding beat matches the pounding in my head. My vision blurs, the club lights into a mess of different hues. My heart hammers inside my chest as I feel my body start to go limp.
“Fuck!” Man bun growls before my body slumps against his. His strong arms encompass my waist as the world blinks into total darkness.
CHARLOTTE
Morning comes too early.Between the drum line in my head throbbing with the remnants of the cocktails from last night and the sun peeking down on me through the curtains, it wakes me up. My body feels heavy and sluggish. I shift onto my side, trying to relieve the pressure in my belly. A soft snore comes from behind me. Minny could always sleep through the worst of her hangovers. It’s like her superpower.
The last time I felt like this was after a college pub crawl our junior year. I barely survived it at twenty-one. I have no idea how I will survive it now that I’m in my early thirties.
My stomach lurches. The ungodly mixture of cocktails and whatever we ate rises to the surface at once. I stumble from the bed, barely making it to the toilet before I erupt. I heave and heave, feeling the ache down to my toes. After a few minutes, the nausea subsides, and I’m left weak and drained. I lean against the cool porcelain and take a deep breath before forcing myself from the floor and step over to the vanity.
The sound of running water fills the room as I wash my face and brush my teeth, trying to rid myself of the taste of last night’s indulgence. I peer up in the mirror. Dark circles ring my eyes as if I didn’t sleep a wink. The dress I’d worn last night has been replaced by one of my long, sleep T-shirts. The faded emblem of a band is barely visible on the front of it.
What happened last night?
My mind is still cloudy, and I can’t piece together anything from the night before. The only thing I remember is the taste of gin and the feeling of Minny’s arm around my waist as we walked through the casino.
As I stagger back into the bedroom, I freeze when I see the bed. Instead of Minny, a shirtless man's silhouette occupies her spot.
I gasp as it dawns on me. There's a man in my bed. My eyes dart around the room until I spot her on the couch, still in last night's dress.
“Minny?” I murmur. She responds with a snore. Damn. Damn. Damn. What am I supposed to do? I've never been one for one-night stands. Terrance was the only man I'd ever been with. Just how much did I drink last night to end up bringing someone home? Why didn't she stop me? Oh my God. Was she here the whole time?
My heart is beating so loud I can actually hear it. My mind races, trying to figure out who he is and how he got here. I try to recall whether Minny mentioned anything about bringing someone back home with us, but the fog in my brain makes it almost impossible to recollect anything. I carefully approach the bed, praying he’s still asleep and hasn’t noticed me yet.
When I get closer, I see his broad shoulders and muscular arms with Norse tattoos on full display, and I can feel my cheeks turn pink. My eyes widen as I take in the stranger’s chiseled abs and broad shoulders, the white sheets barely covering his sinewy muscles. His face is hidden in the pillow, and messy, long, blond hair falls over his face and pillow. The man’s chiseled jawline is the only part I can really make out.
Stop ogling the stranger in your bed, Charlotte. Get it together.
He stirs, shifting his large frame, causing the mattress to dip. I realize he’s slowly waking up. My pulse quickens, and I start to feel a little bit panicked. What am I going to say to him? Who is he?
I retreat a few steps, nearly tripping over a discarded shoe. My heart hammers against my ribs as I frantically try to formulate a plan. Do I wake Minny first? Do I just bolt for the door? Do I confront this gorgeous stranger who apparently shared my bed last night?
The man groans—a deep, resonant sound that seems to vibrate in the air between us. He rolls onto his back, one muscular arm draped over his face. The sheet slips dangerously low on his hips, and I quickly look away.
“Christ,” he mutters. “What time is it?”
My mouth opens, but no sound comes out. I'm frozen, like a deer caught in headlights. When I don't answer, he lifts his arm and blinks at me. Recognition flashes across his face, followed by something that looks suspiciously like amusement.
“Morning, princess,” he says, and there's a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “You look better than anyone has a right to after last night.” He sits up and stretches his muscular arms out wide. “How’s your friend?”
I stare at him like he's speaking a foreign language. Princess? The casual way he says it makes my stomach flip, but not from the hangover this time.
“My friend?” I croak. I gesture weakly toward the couch where Minny lies sprawled like a starfish. “She's...she's fine. Sleeping.”
He chuckles, the sound low and gravelly. “Good. She at least waited to black out until we got back to your room.” He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, and I realize he's wearing boxers. Thank God.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Thor. We didn’t exactly get to exchange names last night before I carried you back here.”
Oh my god. I got drunk, brought this guy back to the room, and did God knows what. I am never drinking again.
“I’m...I’m uh...I’m Charlie. I mean, Charlotte.” I feel my cheeks flush at the implications of his words. I don’t want to think about what might have happened between us. “You carried me back here?”
