CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
AUBREY
SLEEPING in with a hangover never worked for me. The sun had just crossed over the horizon right as I cracked my eyes open. Immediately, I tried to take in more of my surroundings. My body verged on being smothered with heat because another body was wrapped tightly around mine.
My back to his front, he spooned me with his large arm curled around my waist and his leg even enveloped my thigh. I turned my head over so slowly to take in the tanned skin of his bicep. Licking my lips and squirming a bit under the blankets, I reveled in each muscle before I inched my gaze up to his face.
Terrible man he was, his smile and eyes were as bright as the stupid sun.
I groaned and tried to roll away, knowing his chipper attitude would grate all the wrong hungover nerves.
He gripped my hipbone to stop me from moving from his side. “The moment you sit up to get out of this bed, that headache is going to hit you like a semi-truck.”
Part of me wanted to jump up and fake completely good health. My stomach and brain wrenched in pain at the idea though. “I have to get up sooner or later, Jax.”
“Sure. Just wait a minute.” He pulled me close and ran his hand up my bare hip. I looked down and saw that I was wearing only a baggy shirt of his. His hand roamed around under it while he nestled into my neck from behind. “You smell like me.”
I huffed, knowing I probably smelled like booze.
And other things.
“Oh, God,” I mumbled and winced. He ran circles on my ribs like he did my thigh and some of the embarrassment melted away before I asked quietly, “Did I vomit in your car?”
He chuckled, slid his hand down to my butt and smacked it lightly before he rolled away from me and got out of bed. “You just missed. Of course, you got some on your top and in your hair.”
I looked at my hair, confused.
“Baby, I washed you up before we went to bed.”
Warmth spread through me. So much so, I contemplated how it would look if I succumbed to spreading my legs for him that very minute. “You took care of me after how we acted in the club last night?”
“Yeah,” he answered with a sort of confused look on his face. Then, his chin tipped down. “And I always will no matter how we act anywhere.”
I swallowed and pushed the blankets off me. The room was heating up, and I had to get out of here to clear my head. To figure things out.
I froze when I felt his eyes tearing up my skin, making invisible marks like he wanted to devour every inch of me.
“If I could, Whitfield, I'd tattoo my name on every inch of your skin.”
I gulped and slowly got up, knowing the headache I had was about to get worse. When I stood, I grabbed the nightstand and winced. “It's probably more like an airplane hitting me, a big one. Not a semi-truck."
He grabbed some water and Advil for me.
"Now,"—he said as I hydrated by emptying the whole glass—“we run."
"Oh, no." I started to back away but he grabbed my elbow and pulled me toward his closet.
"Oh, yes. We have breakfast with my brother in an hour or two and you have to shake some of this hangover."
I glared at his back while he went through a massive closet where everything seemed lit perfectly and organized conveniently. When he pulled out running shoes and work out clothing my size, I glared harder. “I'm not wearing some other women’s workout clothes.” He smirked, and I said, “Are those Isabel's? Because they won’t even fit me.”
He grunted away my pettiness and shoved the clothes into my chest. “They’re your clothes.”
“I never left any here.”
“I had some brought here this morning.”
“Who would … how?” I asked.