Page 95 of Hot Damn
Sinking into the soothing warmth engulfing me I take my time to catalogue the rest of my body, to wonder why I feel so groggy.
Was I in an accident?
I can’t recall where I am. Or who I’m with. But the sense of security I get from the presence, from the scent filling my nose, the timbre of the voice, puts meat ease.
I know the smell. I recognize the voice.
Except neither are trigging knowledge of who they belong to; it’s right there, I just can’t grab it…
I should be panicking, I should be moving away, forcing my eyes open and figuring out where I am. Why I’m in pain.
“Is she waking up yet?”
The light feminine voice flips a switch and the panic I couldn’t quite muster before screams through my veins and explodes into motion.
I’m upright, pushing through the comfort of a moment ago into muscle tightening anxiety.
Swaying on my feet, my eyes wide, I swivel my head in search of the threat. “Whitney!”
“Whoa.” Large hands grip my shoulders. “Easy, Cam.”
Twisting away, I swing around, and pounding pain shoots through the back of my skull.
Arms up ready to defend, I lock eyes with a set of light brown ones. Recognition slams into me and my lungs and body deflate when I realize where I am.
Who I’m with.
“Beckett?”
“Hey. You’re okay. You’re safe.”
“I…” Why does he keep saying that? Glancing around, I see I’m in his bedroom. Was in his bed. Again? “When…”
Shaking my head, I try to clear the fog from my brain. Movement catches my eye and I turn to see Whitney hovering in the doorway as though afraid to enter the room.
I step toward her. “Are you okay?”
My question has her eyebrows shooting up her forehead. “Um, yeah.” Her gaze darts over my shoulder before coming back to me. “Are you?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Cam.”
Beckett’s voice pulls my gaze back to him and I see he’s moved closer, has a hand held out.
“Come sit down.”
His soft voice, the concern written all over his face, has me taking a step away. “Why? What’s going on? Why am I here… When did I get here?”
The last thing I remember is…
“The game.” A smile stretches my lips. “We won the game.”
“Yeah, we did.” His smile doesn’t hold the joy I expect.
“Then…” I tip my head, eyes going to the ceiling like what I want to know will be written on it, and try to remember what happened after the game.
Did I get drunk at the post-game celebration?
