His forehead creases. “Can Sabrina really hear my balls?”
TWO | NATHAN
There’sa hand near my dick that isn’t mine.
She’s fast asleep, snoring loudly with her hand wrapped around my waist and tucked into the band of my boxers. I gently untuck and examine it—long fake nails, Cartier rings, and a Rolex strapped to her slender wrist.
Who the fuck is it?
Even after a night of God knows what, she still smells expensive, and there are strands of long, golden-blond hair draped over my shoulder from where she’s lying behind me.
I shouldn’t have gone to the party last night, but Benji Harding, and the rest of the basketball guys, are persuasive little shits. As much as I love throwing a party, nothing beats going somewhere else and coming home to a quiet house not full of other people’s mess.
Unless you’re talking about this kind of mess. The kind where there’s a woman in your bed, and you can’t remember who the hell it is.
The common-sense part of my brain tells me to roll over and look at her, but another part that remembers all the silly situations we’ve gotten ourselves into keeps reminding me that drunk Nate is a dick.
Thatpart of my brain has real concerns this is going to be someone’s sister, or worse, someone’s mom.
“Can you stop moving about?” the mystery guest snaps. “What is it with fucking sports guys and early mornings?”
That voice. It’s one I wish I didn’t recognize.
Oh fuck.
I slowly roll over so I can confirm my own worst fear: that I did have sex with Kitty Vincent last night.
And I do.
She looks peaceful when she’s trying to sleep; her facial features are soft and delicate, lips blush and pursed. From how calm she looks right now, you wouldn’t know she’s an absolute raging bit—
“Why are you staring at me, Nate?” Her eyes fly open, and she disintegrates me with one look, like the fucking dragon she is.
Kitty Vincent is everything wrong with rich girls with Daddy’s credit card, a subspecies of women at UCMH I happen to be an expert on. Expertise I’ve gained from having sex with practically all of them.
Except for this one.
I was never supposed to do it with this one.
There’s nothing wrong with her visually. To be frank, she’s an absolute knockout. She’s just an absolutely terrible human being.
“Are you okay?” I ask carefully. “Do you need anything?”
“I need you to stop staring at me like you’ve never seen a naked woman in your bed before,” she snipes back, pushing her body to lean against the headboard. “We both know you have, and you’re creeping me out.”
“I’m shocked, Kit. I, uh, don’t remember how this happened…”
I remember being at the party and trying to get Summer Castillo-West to give me her number, but tragically being rejected for the fourth September in a row. I also remember playing beer pong with Danny Adeleke and losing, which I’d rather not remember, but I still don’t remember howthishappened.
“Oh shit. Wait, aren’t you dating Danny?”
She rolls her blue eyes and reaches for her purse sitting on the table beside my bed, cursing when she finds her phone battery is dead. Brushing her hair from her face, she finally looks over at me, and I have never known a woman to look so irritated by my existence. “We broke up.”
“Right, right. That sucks, I’m sorry. What happened?”
I’m trying to be polite, a gracious host, some would say, but she raises one of her perfectly sculpted eyebrows at me and frowns. “Why do you give a fuck?”
I rub my jaw nervously with my palm as I attempt to think of a reason to give her. She’s right. I don’t care, I hate cheaters and panicked, but since they broke up, I don’t have anything to worry about. “Only trying to be nice.”