Page 33 of One More Kiss

That Night

Anne Mercier

JEN

I wakeup with a pounding headache. There's a sliver of sunshine coming through the curtains that hits my eyes and I cringe. Ouch. What the hell happened last night? Too many Hurricanes is what happened. After my fourth, it gets a little fuzzy. Damn, that Captain Morgan.

The urgent need to pee hits me. I shift in bed to try to get up, but I'm pinned to the mattress by a very heavy arm. I look down and immediately recognize the tattoos decorating the skin. Oh no. Please don't be what it looks like.I lift my eyes and look around. It's not my room. I'm in Zane's room. It's his arm covering me. It's his bed I'm in—I wiggle a bit then close my eyes again—naked and sore in all my girly parts. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. It's exactly what it looks like. I had sex with my best friend.

Zane Masters. My best friend since middle school. The guy who's always been there for me through the best and worst of times and everything in between. The guy who I've secretly longed for. But I accepted long ago that Zane just wasn't for me. He's a manwhore.

Zane the rock god was discovered on an online app. He met fame quickly. He's a fabulous musician with a voice that wets panties around the world, and he loves that. He gets laid whenever he wants… and last night I was the groupie. Sonofabitch! How could I be so stupid? This is going to ruin everything.

I gently lift his arm off me and slide off the side of the bed. I breathe a sigh of relief when he doesn't wake up from the muted thud of my ass hitting the floor. That's going to leave a mark.

I get up and tip toe to the bathroom, picking up my clothes as I go. Crap. Where are my shoes? I'll have to find them on my way out.

I look at myself in the bathroom mirror and I look like roadkill. I've got panda eyes from my makeup, razor burn from Zane's stubble, and my lips are swollen and red. I lick them. They still taste like him. Sweet merciful lord, he tastes like ambrosia.

My neck has a couple hickies, and one actual bite. Damn. I wish I could remember that. I bet it was hot as fuck. More hickies on my breasts. I stop there because the thought of Zane doing all the things that brought those love bites to life has me getting all worked up again, and this was a mistake. I mean, it must be. Zane isn't the settling down kind, and I'm a monogamous kinda gal.

What was I thinking? I sigh as I put my clothes on. Oh, how I wish this was real.

I feel a sting on my finger as I pull on my top. When I look down, my left ring finger has a tattoo of a heart-shaped lock with yesterday's date.

What the fuck!Omigod. We wouldn't have done that. Even as wasted as we were. No…

I pull open the bathroom door slowly and look at Zane. He's still sleeping soundly on his stomach, his arm stretched out over where I'd been. I slowly and quietly make my way around the bed and look down at his heart-stoppingly handsome face. His eyelashes fan out over his cheeks, his dark hair sexily mussed. His nose just a little too big and crooked from where he punched Tommy James for calling me a bitch when I wouldn't agree to go out with him. And those full lips… they're as red and swollen as mine. I bypass his tattooed back or else I'd wake him with my drool and moans. His muscles—Nope. Don't look, Jen! Don't look! I take a breath and focus, when my eyes find what I'm looking for, I nearly gasp aloud. I cover my mouth with both hands, my eyes feel like they're going to pop out of their sockets. Holy fucking hell. On Zane's left ring finger, he has a key tattooed with yesterday's date.

He wouldn't have let this happen, would he? I deny it even as my body starts to shake with what I know to be true.

I grab my purse, find my shoes by the door, and get the hell out of there.

Fuck my life.

We're a total cliché. We got married in Vegas.

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