Page 11 of Bad Luck, Hard Love
He looks at me for a beat before getting out of bed to retrieve his shirt hanging on the back of one of the chairs.
I can’t help but follow his movements, admiring how his muscles ripple as he bends over to pick up his jeans. My heart is pounding in my chest, and I’m unsure if it’s from fear or excitement. He turns to me, a boyish smile curling the corners of his lips.
“You don't remember much, do you?”
“I—” My throat feels like sandpaper. “No. I don't remember anything.” The admission makes me feel vulnerable, exposed.
“The last thing I remember is going to the casino with my friend and then waking up sick.”
“You were sick?” he interjects. “Shit, I didn’t hear you, or I’d have gotten up to help you.”
“I’m fine,” I admit before redirecting back to the situation I’ve found myself in. “This is going to sound really awkward, but did we…” I ask, waggling a finger between us.
“We did not.” He cocks his head to the side, studying me. “Though you did try to molest me a few times in your sleep.”
“I… what?”
“I’m kidding, sweetheart. Nothing happened. Scouts honor.” He holds up his fingers like one of those kids who used to come sell popcorn door to door in our old neighborhood, but there is nothing boyish about this man. I highly doubt he was a Boy Scout.
“So, if we didn’t sleep together, how did you find yourself half naked in my bed?”
“You need to hydrate,” he mutters, dismissing my question as he sidesteps me and walks to the minibar in our room. He grabs a clean glass from the rack, fills it with water, stalks back over, and hands it to me. “Drink it.”
“I asked you a question,” I fire back.
“Drink it, and we’ll talk.” Unsure of what significance this glass of water has or his need for me to hydrate, I down it in a few gulps, the liquid sloshing down my raw throat before landing like lead pellets in my stomach.
“You could have sipped it. Your stomach isn’t going to like that.”
He’s not wrong. My stomach recoils at the intrusion of water, and I run back to the toilet, retching violently. The water comes up just as fast as it went down, and I grip the porcelain rim until my knuckles turn white. Thor appears behind me, and I feel his warm hand on my back, rubbing gentle circles as I heave.
“Easy,” he murmurs. “Let it out.”
I want to tell him to leave, that I don't need him seeing me like this, but another wave of nausea hits, and I'm too busy trying not to die to form words. When the spasms finally subside, he hands me a damp washcloth.
“Better?”
I nod weakly, accepting the cloth and wiping my mouth. “Thanks.”
“Come on. Let's get you back to bed.” His hand finds the small of my back, steadying me as I stand on shaky legs.
“I'm fine,” I protest, but my body betrays me by swaying slightly.
“Sure you are, princess.” There's that word again. The way he says it doesn't sound mocking. It sounds almost...protective.
Back in the bedroom, he guides me to sit on the edge of the bed. I'm acutely aware of how close he is, how his presence seems to fill the entire room. He smells like leather and something distinctly masculine that makes my head spin for reasons that have nothing to do with the hangover.
“Will you tell me what happened?”
“You were drugged last night at the club.”
“I was what?” The words hit me like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from my lungs. “Drugged?” I gasp, feeling sick to my stomach again at the thought of someone tampering with my body. Panic rises in my chest as I struggle to grasp the reality of the situation. “Who would do that to me?”
“Group of four guys at the bar. I saw one of them dose your last round of drinks. You were about to drink it when I intervened, but you passed out a few minutes later. They must have dosed your previous cocktails, too. They also got your friend.”
I feel a sense of relief that Minny is okay, but the anger toward the men who had drugged us boils inside me.
“Why would they do that?” I demand, my hands balling into fists.
