That’s strange.
I’m still drifting in that in-between place where I’m struggling to wake but can’t quite break through to the surface. My fingers stroke over something warm as my brain processes what I’m touching. Tentatively, my exploration continues until my fingers graze over a flat male nipple.
What the hell?
My eyes pop open only to find a big body next to me. A muscled arm is thrown over his face, preventing me from discovering the mystery man’s identity.
A choked sound escapes from my lips.
Not in a million years did I ever suspect I’d wake up next to a random dude.
I wrack my brain, trying to remember what happened last night, but it’s a blur of images. It takes a moment for them to coalesce until, one by one, they flash through my head like a slow-motion picture show.
Hanging with Alyssa at my house.
Beck’s party.
Sitting on a lounger and talking with Landon.
Landon.
Is that who I ended up in bed with?
For some reason, I don’t think so.
The rest of the night tumbles through my fuzzy brain at an alarming pace. Landon was not only kind enough to keep me company, but also in refills.
Jeez. Exactly how much did I drink?
That must be the reason I feel like I’ve been hit over the head with a sledgehammer.
And then Beck, of all people, cut me off. Considering the state I’m waking up in, he should have done it sooner. Although I’ll refrain from telling him that.
An image of Beck tossing me over his shoulder, carrying me through the party, and up to his room flickers through my head.
Wait a minute…were people actually cheering?
Oh, the horror of it all.
Unwilling to face the reality of the situation, I squeeze my eyes tightly shut and attempt to block out this whole unpleasant episode.
“Morning, sleeping beauty,” comes a gruff voice chock-full of amusement.
Damn.
Damn.
Damn.
I recognize that voice all too well. It haunts my nightmares. And a few of my dreams.
He’s the one I ended up in bed with?
I groan in embarrassment.
“What’s wrong, Stanbury? Didn’t sleep well? If anyone should be complaining, it’s me. You kept me up all night with your snoring.”
My eyes fly open only to find him hovering inches above me. A devilish smile spills across his face. He’s loving every moment of my self-inflicted torment. As much as I don’t want to notice how ridiculously hot he is, it would be impossible not to. Air rushes from my lungs as those unwelcome thoughts invade my brain.
It takes effort to focus on the conversation now playing out. “I don’t snore.”
“Sure you do, just like a chainsaw.”
Heat slams into my cheeks. “I do not!”
He lowers his face until our mouths are almost touching. “Yeah, you do. But I didn’t mind because I enjoyed holding you in my arms.”
The breath leaks from my lungs.
That much I remember.
His arms were banded around me all night. And I’d slept…okay. Better than that, if I’m being honest with myself.
Arrrgh.
This is exactly why I don’t drink. Bad choices are inevitably made when alcohol consumption is involved. It’s much too easy to make a fool out of yourself and sleep with—
Oh, God…did we have sex?
No.
No.
No.
Frantically I search my brain, trying to remember if anything physical happened. Silence rains down on us and my heart constricts before pounding into overdrive. I moisten my lips before pushing out the words. “Did we…”
“Don’t worry, little miss perfect, your virtue is firmly intact.”
There’s a definite smirk in his voice.
I shift my focus to him, searching his eyes carefully.
Why would he say that?
He has no idea I’m a virgin.
I clear my throat and attempt to remain calm. Beck is the last person I’d want knowing about my personal business. The teasing would be merciless. I’d never hear the end of it. “Why would you say that?”
“Educated guess.” His eyes crinkle at the corners. “Am I wrong?”
Every muscle in my body fills with tension.
How do I answer without giving away the truth?
A slow grin moves across his face, making him more handsome than he already is. An arrow of lust explodes in my core.
His hair is artfully disheveled. I’m tempted to reach out and run my fingers through the strands. Instead, I tighten them and resist the urge. It’s so unfair. No one should look this good at the butt crack of dawn. The guy could grace the cover of a men’s magazine. While I, on the other hand, probably have that whole—just-stuck-my-finger-in-an-electrical-socket look going for me.
“Your silence is answer enough.”
I grit my teeth. The only other choice I have is to lie, and I’m a terrible liar.
“Plus, you let the cat out of the bag last night.”
I bolt up. My eyes widen until they feel like they might roll right out of my head. “What?”
I wrack my brain again, carefully combing over our conversations. But things are still muddled.
“Liar,” I accuse. There is no way I would share something so intimate with Beck. Even if I’d been completely shitfaced, I wouldn’t have confessed that to him. But still, doubt lurks in the back of my brain.