Page 6 of Dash

I open my eyes slowly this time and glance around the room I’m in. I don’t recognize anything—from the cream walls to the immaculate clean tan furniture and spotless wood floors. Seriously, I could eat off them. I’m sure as hell not in my bedroom. Did Jackie and I not go home last night?

Beside me, I hear a faint sound of snoring. My head snaps to the left, and I wince from the sudden movement. But my breath catches and my heart pounds in my chest when I see the back of a head covered in brown hair that’s a little longer than what I’m used to on a man. I quickly lift the sheets and look down at myself. I’m naked.

“Shit,” I say a little too loud making the dark-haired man stir beside me.

What the hell did I do last night?

Last thing I remember was Jackie coming into my bedroom and telling me to get ready. I had a few hours before we had to be at Blake’s party. Then I started drinking while getting ready. Rodger wouldn’t leave me alone. She finally dragged me out of the house as she complained how late we were.

Then nothing. Until now.

I have to get out of here!

I take a quick look around the room to locate my clothes.

I spot my skinny jeans wadded up over in the far corner. They aren’t hard to pinpoint since they are the only thing lying on this bedroom floor.

I throw the covers off and run over to them. I pull them up not caring about my underwear. Those babies are too fucking small to even look for.

I place my hand over my breasts and look for my bra—where is that at?

I spin around and spot my shirt tossed behind the couch. Who has a couch in their bedroom? I snatch it up and start to put in on when I notice that it has been ripped.

That motherfucker.

I smile to myself. At the time, I probably liked his enthusiasm. Now, not so much. I spot a man’s t-shirt on the floor underneath the desk. I see Dash written across the back with a number 88 placed underneath it.

That’s the only shirt I see, so I grab it and put it on.

Grabbing my purse from the other side of the room along with my heels, I step out without waking him or leaving a note.

Seriously, what would it say?

Thanks for a night I can’t remember and for losing my favorite pair of panties? Oh, and when you find my bra, can you please return it?

No, that’s just tacky. It’s bad enough I woke up in bed with a man. And let me set the record straight—this sort of thing has not happened in a long time.

I mean, yeah, I like sex as much as the next girl and have had a couple of one-night stands before Rodger. I at least knew those men, though. It just happened once, therefore, one-night stand.

But I don’t make it a point to sleep with random men I don’t know at parties. That’s how girls end up with a disease or worse, dead or missing. So, I’m just gonna chalk it up to a lapse of judgment and alcohol-induced horniness.

It’s totally a thing. Plus, I just went through a breakup. Doesn’t that allow me one night of craziness?

Slowly and quietly, I make my way through this mansion as I try to do the walk of shame without being seen.

Long ass hallways with expensive artifacts hanging from the walls make me think this guy does not own this house. He looked way too young. His parents probably own this, and he lives with them.

I roll my eyes. I always find the ones who need their mommy and daddy to support their asses.

That’s why his room is so clean. I bet his parents are out of town for business, and he had the maid come and clean so he could throw a party. That’s what I would do. And by looking at the beer cans and empty liquor bottles covering the floor, I would say he needs her to come back to clean once more.

I turn down another hallway and walk past several shut doors. I can hear movement behind the last door I come up on.

“That feels so good,” a woman’s voice says softly. “Right there,” she moans.

I come to a stop and stare at a soft yellow painted door. Please don’t be Jackie. She has to be here somewhere, right? And that could easily be her horny ass.

“You like that, Val?” a man’s deep voice says next, and I release a sigh of relief. Not Jackie. “What are you?” he demands, his voice rising.

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