Page 2 of Sweet Little Lies
Chapter 1
Lance
What the hell is all that banging?
I wake in a stupor, with the world spinning faster than normal, producing a film of fuzziness across my thoughts and memories of the night before. Bleeding the lines and edges of recollection so I’m thoroughly confused about where I am.
Although the killer hangover and nausea has me questioning my life choices at the moment, I still have enough wherewithal to know a few things for certain. One, I’m not in my own bed. It’s too warm, the blankets too comfy and the pillows too soft to be mine.
Second, my head is a fucking time bomb that’s about the detonate and someone in the near vicinity is going to get an ass-kicking for making so much noise at this time of morning.
Wait, it is morning, right?
Fuck me, where is that racket coming from?
Slowly – and painfully – I peel my eyes open one at a time, taking in the scene around me. I’m careful not to jostle my head or make any sudden movements – because, well, hangover. Awareness – thick like molasses – begins to creep in.
A few flashes of recollection spark my memory from last night, but it’s still unclear. However, relief floods me with the little bit I have to go on as I swallow back the bile stuck in my throat. I’m not in my own bed which isn’t too unusual, there is still a panic that ensues – quick, sharp jabs into my ribs. Sliding my hand underneath the sheets, down past my stomach, I pat my lower extremities to confirm that I’m still wearing a pair of shorts and not naked. I suppose that’s a plus.
Another shot of panicky adrenaline jolts through my aching head and frenzied heart, skittering wildly to a stop when I check the other side of the bed for another body. My exploration comes up empty. Not sure if this is a positive win or not, considering I have no recollection of what transpired last night. As far as I know, I could have had drunken, crazy sex with any number of sorority girls or hoops hunnies bugging for my attention.
That mistake has been made one too many times to count, with the label of asshole being thrown at me every single time I exit the next morning and never call them again. Yeah, the asshole label isn’t entirely unfair.
But it’s a relief that I find myself totally alone in the bed.
Then again, it sucks balls. Because I hate being alone and if I had my way, I wouldn’t be. Not if the girl I’ve wanted for the last year would give me the time of day.
And then the banging begins again and all thoughts about what I want and can’t have disappear in lieu of finding the cause of this maddening noise and then shutting it the fuck down.
“Shut the hell up already,” I groan, moving at a snail’s pace to the edge of the bed where I plant my feet on the sturdy floor.
Not sturdy enough to gain my balance, though, as I wobble to a standing position.
Fuck, this is bad.
My ass lands back on the bed, my head spinning like a Tilt-a-Whirl on speed.
But then my bladder informs me that I need to take a leak like a motherfucker, so I’m going to have to find a bathroom one way or another. It’s then I hear the soft pad of footsteps nearing the door and a faint knock before it creaks open.
My blurry eyes may deceive me, but standing in the doorframe, looking fresh and beautiful as a desert rose, is Mica Reyes. The same girl who’s evaded my advances – but invaded my thoughts - for nearly a year now. The only woman who’s shut me down and shut me out and who doesn’t seem to care about my basketball status. The one who’s made it all abundantly clear that we’re to remain friends. And not the ‘friends-with benefits’ that I would prefer.
“Good morning,” she whispers, her voice breathy and soft, with a hint of a sexy rasp. “I brought you some water and aspirin. And I have breakfast ready if you’re hungry.”
My stomach churns at the thought of food, but water is good. When she hands me the glass of cool water, our fingers touch and I take the opportunity to grab onto her tiny wrist, holding her in place so she can’t run away.
Mica’s like a skittish bunny. Shy and quiet, always anxious over my attention. Resistant to my charm and needy flirtations. Yet, here I am. I’m obviously in her bedroom where I must have spent the night, but I’m unclear if anything happened between us.
And let me tell you, I will kick my own ass if something happened between us while I was black out drunk. Because the first time we’re together – and yeah, I’m sure there will be a first time in the future - I want to remember every perfect detail about it.
“Thanks, beautiful. You’re an angel,” I reply with a mix of gratitude and raw pleasure.
She allows my hand to remain planted on her wrist, keeping her within an arm’s length distance as my thumb gently traces a pattern across her smooth, caramel-colored skin. I was already sporting a morning chub, but now it’s made ten times worse just from the feel of her soft flesh.
My thoughts are jumbled, from both the excessive drinking from last night and her nearness this morning. I try to forage through my memories to figure out what went down last night. It was my buddy Cade’s engagement party and everyone was there. All my former and current college teammates, their girlfriends, family members and Mica. The last thing I remember was playing beer pong with Christian, Van and Carver.
After that, I don’t remember anything. I must’ve blacked out. That has been happening more and more frequently, and although I’m always safe and know someone will ensure I don’t get myself into trouble, it does worry me a little. I get to a certain point of drunkenness and then that part of my brain just clicks off.
Regardless of what happened, it’s not a hardship being taken care of by Mica. She’s a sight for my sore, bloodshot eyes. She could easily be related to Ariana Grande, with the same buttery toffee complexion, the long dark chocolate hair, and the brown eyes that are a cross between amber and molasses. She has no idea what she does to me or how beautiful she is.
