Page 5 of Spiral
“Bollocks,” I repeated, this time louder, while digging my fingers in my hair and holding tight before letting go long enough to down the water, then stumbled, tired, into the bathroom. My ass ached, my back ached, and the muscles in my thighs burned, but the memory of the best orgasm I’d ever had flooded me, and when I faced the mirror, my hair sticking up all over, I was smiling.
Until I saw the marks on my neck.
Clearly, Craig had vampiric tendencies by the bruises he’d left. I wish I could remember every one of them being made, but no, I was the idiot who’d drunk too much and made questionable life choices. The shower helped a little. I mean, it didn’t wash away the ache in my arse, or the ring of bruises at the base of my throat, or the handprint on my left thigh where he’d gripped me, but it cleared my head a little, and at least I wasn’t sick.
But there it was, the stark, sticky reality of our choices smeared across my sheets. I sighed deeply, frustration and resignation settling in as I stripped the bed and rolled the sheets into a ball. I’d need to face him eventually, face whatever this was—or wasn’t—between us. But not just yet. First, I needed tea. And headache pills. Lots of them.
When I shuffled downstairs, the kitchen was unexpectedly silent. There was no sign of the girls yet, but I was on breakfast duty because Oliver had an early practice. I’d braced myself for the typical whirlwind of activity stirred up by Scarlett and Daisy. Instead, I found immaculate counters and the remnants of yesterday’s event gone.
With a sense of relief that I had silence for a while, my hands fumbled as I filled the kettle. The promise of tea and headache meds kept me anchored to the world this morning.
As the kettle began to rumble with the early signs of a boil, the sound was a gentle murmur compared to the throbbing in my head. I leaned against the counter, closing my eyes briefly, letting the familiar ritual of making tea soothe the rough edges of my hangover.
Oliver’s booming entrance shattered the moment. “Morning, sunshine!” he declared with a grin far too bright for this ungodly hour.
The greeting hit me like a sledgehammer. I winced, opening one eye to squint at my best friend, who would die quickly if he didn’t rein it in. “You’re too loud,” I muttered, my voice hoarse.
Oliver was already dressed in his Storm T-shirt, the epitome of morning readiness that I found particularly offensive given my current state. “Sorry,” he chuckled, his voice dropping to what he probably thought was a whisper but was still average speaking volume.
“Tablets,” I whimpered and focused on finding the right tea bag while he unlocked the medicine box. I accepted the bottle of painkillers he slid across the counter to me with extreme gratitude. I popped a couple, chased them down with a swig of water, made my mug of tea, and then buried my head in my hands with my elbows propped awkwardly on the counter.
Oliver’s presence was a mix of comfort and annoyance—a brother in all but blood who knew exactly when to push and when to hold back. As I sat there, my head cradled in my hands, I felt him pat my back sympathetically.
“Rough night?” he asked, his tone laced with a brotherly concern that I both appreciated and dreaded.
I nodded into my hands, not quite ready to dive into the details of last night’s escapades or Craig’s silent departure. “You could say that,” I mumbled, my voice muffled by my palms.
“You don’t normally drink,” he said after a pause, pulling out a tray of eggs, six of which I knew would disappear into whatever omelets he would make. It was all about protein for Mr. Hockey Star, but the thought of eggs right now for me… gah, no. “Is it the ex from hell? Did he do something else?”
“Sean? Haven’t heard anything since he handed over our research with my name removed,” I grumbled, but I wasn’t going to go through all that again, particularly with a headache. “I just…” What did I say? That I thought Craig was ignoring me, so I got drunk, and then I pouted and went all psycho on him, and then he ran away? I sighed, a part of me relieved to have a friend like Oli to confide in, another part wishing I could rewind and start yesterday over so I had nothing to explain. But for now, teasounded like a perfect first step, and I sipped the brew, the heat of which soothed my throat. I remembered a messy three a.m. blowjob.
Or did I dream rolling over and swallowing him down, near choking on his glorious cock and?—
“Earth to Jamie, come in, Jamie,” Oli said as he waved his hand in front of my face.
“It’s all good,” I lied.
He patted my shoulder as if he understood I needed to lie, before plating up his enormous omelet and finishing it just as Jackson strolled into the kitchen in his cop suit, not looking quite as ragged as he used to before he’d moved in here with Oli and started eating correctly and actually having a supply of new ties at his beck and call. He and Oli exchanged a kiss, and then he swung his leg over the stool and rested his head on his hands, staring at me.
“So, I caught someone breaking out,” he deadpanned, and for a moment I tensed. Someone had broken into our house. Were the girls okay? Surely Oli would be upset if…
Wait…
Someone had brokenoutof the house.
He waited for me to put two and two together before grinning at me.
Arsehole wanker bastard.
He smirked, and when I glanced at Oli, I saw him biting his lip to stop an unmistakable grin. “Fuck you both backward,” I snarled, and then after a few more sips of tea, I sighed. “Yes, it was Craig, and yes, we slept together, and yes, we were both drunk, and no, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“At least your walk of shame was only down the stairs; I had to help your spurned lover with the alarm and the gate and ensure he got in the cab.” Jackson was teasing, but I was worried about Craig and what we’d done, and I didn’t feel like joking.
“I didn’t spurn him. Who even uses the word spurn.”
Jackson shrugged. “Brits.”
I scowled at him. “We don’t say that.”
