Page 73 of Badd Baby

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Nothing follows them. There is nothing.

Nothing.

I'll always remember the way your heartbeat sounds as I fall asleep.

I'll always remember the taste of that last kiss, stolen in the final moments before sleep takes us both—

***CONSCIOUSNESS***

—Sunlight burned hot and yellow on my eyelids. My throat burned, and my mouth was scorched. My head pounded. Sand was gritty in my hot, throbbing eyes.

Groaning, I cracked one eye open.

Anchorage.

Hotel.

The wedding.

Dancing. Talking to my friends.

Duncan.

Oh, fuck.

Duncan.

I scoured my mind for clues, but it was all hazy and vague.

I heard him beside me, grunting in pain.

I cracked open one eye again, rolled my heavy, throbbing skull to face him. He was naked, his bare ass facing the window. The blinds were open—it was still relatively early.

I was naked, too.

Shit, shit, shit.

No, no, no.

Panic. Immense, immediate, blazing panic. It occluded everything else in my brain and left me with one thought:

ESCAPE!

I slid out of bed as quietly as possible, threw on a pair of leggings and T-shirt—no bra, no panties, which says a lot about how panicked I was, because I never go commando—shoved everything into my bag, and left. I didn't tie back my hair, I didn't relieve my screaming bladder, nothing. I didn't pack—makeup, phone charger, dirty clothes, everything just got shoved into my suitcase and zipped up.

No note.

I stopped in the restroom in the lobby and then caught a taxi to the airport, snagged coffee and breakfast there, and flew back to Seattle, where my car was waiting for me in the long-term lot.

Finally back in the Lower Forty-eight, I sat in my idling car, radio off, windows down to let out the old, stale air, and tried not to cry.

Why was I weepy?

I slapped my cheeks. "Get it together, Rune," I told myself out loud. "You're fine."

My phone rang: Duncan.

Dammit.

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