CHAPTERONE
SOPHIE
I’m on fire.
Not literally, thank goodness. But my whole body is tingly and damp and the hair at the back of my neck is wet and sticking to my skin. I put my hand to my chest and feel a trail of sweat weaving its way down my cleavage. My bare cleavage.
Which means I’m naked.
I blink my eyes open and crane my head to find the source of the intense heat. He’s laying behind me, his arm flung over my stomach, his chest curved against my back. His breathing is soft, his hair messed up, and I have no idea whether that’s due to a poor night’s sleep or me.
I feel that I need to point out something. I don’t usually do this kind of thing. It’s not that I look down upon people who have one-night stands. I’d love to be so carefree that I could sleep with somebody and walk away from them with a smile on my face, last night’s clothes cladding my sated body.
But I just can’t. I catch feelings. I feel hurt when they don’t call. I overanalyze things so one-night stands are not good for me.
I lift his arm and manage to wiggle away from his still-slumbering body. I still feel like I’m about to combust, so I tiptoe naked to the bathroom and close the door as quietly as I can, my head pounding with a reminder that we drank way too many cocktails last night.
Although he drank more than me. There’s some small comfort in that.
When I turn, I catch a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror.
I look terrible. My hair is a mess, there’s a huge creased red spot on my cheek where I’ve been resting it against the pillow. A cocktail of emotions rush through me.
Horror. Embarrassment. The pure excruciating knowledge that I’m going to have to walk out and face the man currently sleeping like a baby in my bed.
Oh, did I tell you that I know him?
Liam Salinger. My best friend’s brother-in-law and all around cocky rich guy.
I’ve known him for a few months. Since Ava – that’s my best friend – got engaged to his brother, Myles. Who is lovely, by the way. And yes, some of that loveliness comes from the fact that he takes great care of Ava.
But back to Liam. How am I going to deal with this? I roll my eyes at my reflection, like it’s her fault for getting me into this situation in the first place. And then I swallow and the sour taste in my mouth makes me wince.
To delay the inevitable confrontation, I brush my teeth. And shower. And as I wrap myself in a towel, with the vain hope that either he was a mirage in the first place, or he’s had the good grace to leave while I’ve been skulking in here.
But no. He’s still in my bed. In fact, he’s made himself more at home. He’s lying on his back right in the middle, one arm flung over his head, the bedsheet half-wrapped around his hips, revealing his admittedly fine looking chest.
If we were at his place, I’d walk out and not look back. But since he lives in New York and I live in West Virginia that’s not happening. So he’s the one who needs to leave.
“Liam,” I whisper.
Nothing.
I say his name again, louder this time, and it results in a groan and him turning onto his side, facing away from me.
I’m not going to touch him. I just want him gone.
“For God’s sake,” I mutter and somehow that does the trick.
He lets out a low groan. I pull the white towel tightly around my chest. Why didn’t I get dressed before I tried to wake him up?
He turns onto his back, stretching his arms above his head as though he has all the time in the world to LEAVE MY HOME!
I don’t look at the way his chest muscles ripple. Okay, I do a bit.
Then his eyes open. He stares at the ceiling. Down at the bed. He blinks and his brows knit and if this was a documentary I’d find it fascinating. Man waking up and realizing he’s not in his own bed.
But this isn’t Netflix, it’s my life and it’s not funny at all.