Page 14 of Personal Foul
I want to reach out and touch her. Kiss her. Fuck, I think I might even want to cuddle her. But all of it sounds dangerous, so I keep my hands to myself.
She opens a dresser drawer and pulls some clothes out, standing and heading toward the bathroom. She grabs my clothes and sets them outside the bathroom and pauses just before she shuts the door.
“I’m gonna get cleaned up and dressed and then go to bed. You can still stay if you want, or this is your opportunity to not be here when I get back.”
She doesn’t even bother to look back at me, so why I stay and climb into bed instead of taking that opportunity, I don’t know. Probably has something to do with the way the little spur of wings in my stomach refuses to fall flat even after that dismissal.
SEVEN
Wren
The next morningwhen I wake up, the sun is already pouring through the windows, and I blink as I take in the room. It’s a mess. Things are scattered, sheets and pillows are on the floor, and I feel my heart skip as I wonder what the hell happened while I was sleeping.
It’s wonderment that lasts all of a few seconds before I remember exactly what happened when I wasn’t sleeping.Easton.Easton fucking happened to me. I have no idea how I made such a stupid decision, especially since I didn’t even have alcohol to blame it on. Just loneliness and a long week. And Easton—looking and talking the way he does.
Then I realize I don’t remember him leaving my room last night. He was in bed, back to me when I got out of the bathroom. I assumed sleeping off the rest of the alcohol. But surely, he’s the kind of guy who sneaks out in the wee hours of the morning to avoid the whole morning-after conversation, right? He probably ran home with as much regret as I have right now way before I ever woke up. Something I will silently thank him for.
Except I don’t even have to look over, because I can feel his warm body inches from mine. The soft rise and fall of his chest as he sleeps. Shit. Shit.Shit.I am not prepared for any morning-after run-in with him.
I slide my way out of bed, praying he doesn’t wake yet until I can come up with a plan. I need to know what time it is. Figure out whether or not the girls are up. Because the last thing I want them to find is this… Him in my bed, my room looking like we had insane fucking sex, and me, I am sure, looking like I was on the receiving end of it. Another flash of us together last night pops into my head, and I wince.
I grab clothes out of my dresser on the way, eager to get out of my PJs and dress again before he wakes up. I make it to the bathroom and quietly latch the door shut, leaning against the counter. I snatch my phone off of it to see that it’s already late morning. Which means there is zero chance everyone else isn’t already up in the house. How the hell am I going to get him out of this room without them finding out?
The panic swells in my gut. I can already see their faces staring at me as we walk down the steps. Mac and Liv looking worried as hell. Like I’ve finally cracked. I can hear the lecture Liam is gonna be giving if he finds out we hooked up, telling Easton that he should be smarter than to put his dick anywhere near this friend group. Ben might even judge me for this one.
I hear a rustling in my room, and I assume that means time’s nearly up for me to face whatever the hell Easton’s going to say to me. I’m sure it’ll be something smug and rude. Like it always is. But I can endure it. I can be just as smug and rude. After all, this is a two-way street. We’d both been epically stupid last night.
I run the water, pretending like I came in here for a reason besides a panic session, and then open the door. He’s sitting up, his hair messed and dried to one side like he slept on it funny. His gorgeous perfect chest and abs are on display, the sheet around his hips, draped over his lap. I can’t believe I slept with him. It is not fair that this is how he wakes up in the morning. He scrubs a hand over his face and then looks at me, cracking a wide grin. And I’m surprised when it’s boyish, almost flirty, rather than his usual arrogant one.
“All right, Princess, tell me, did I just have thebestfucking dream, or did any of that actually happen?”
And he’s talking way too loud in an old house where people are presumably awake and have ears. I rush over to him and clamp my hand over his mouth. His brow raises and then slams down, furrowing as I put my finger to my lips.
“It’s late morning. Guarantee they’re already up. So try to be quiet,” I frown, and then to illustrate my desperation I add, “Please.”
He nods his annoyed understanding, and I release my hand.
“We have to figure out how to get you out of here,” I whisper conspiratorially.
“Through the fucking door and down the stairs—like a normal fucking person—would be my choice.” The playful tone he had a moment ago is gone.
“Right. Because they won’t have any questions at all.”
“Princess, my car is parked outside. I never said goodbye to anyone. There’s only one room I could possibly still be in in this house. I’d put 100 on the fact they’ve already puzzled that one out.”
Shit. He has good points.
“Then we need a story.”
“Yeah? Well, there were several last night. Pick one,” he sneers.
Why? Why was I stupid enough to sleep with this fucking man. Of all the men in the world.
“You came up here to get away from everyone. You were drinking and passed out up here. I found you when I got home, and I let you stay because we were both just tired. Woke up late for the same reason.”
“Oh good one. And the claw marks on my back and the bite mark on my shoulder? Did I also wrestle a feral raccoon that snuck in?” He’s up out of the bed, putting his clothes back on now.
First, goddamn this man is gorgeous. Like, unfairly so. Seeing it all again compounds how much I want him. Second,holy shitdid I do a number on his back. He deserved it, but still, the evidence is a little hard to look at in the daylight.
