Page 6 of Heart Match

‘I see,’ he chuckles, possibly agreeing with my remark.

‘Sorry,’ I say, now peeking out of the hiding place I’ve improvised with my hands.

‘There are worse things than being called cute,’ he winks at me.

Oh God, why do I feel my insides stir up? Oh the things I could do to his body, how messy I could make his hair. Oh … it’s so so hot in here right now. Stop it. Get it together Olivia.

Before I can say anything else the lift stops at the penthouse and the doors open.

‘Guess I’ll see you around.’ Cute guy’s making his way out just when I start to feel my acidic stomach complaining.

Oh no. Not now.

I tense and try to think of the fastest route to the closest bathroom. Until this lift has closed its doors and I get to my floor it will be too late. I step out of it, just behind him, and the only thing keeping the bile rising up my throat from coming out is watching his ass move inside the white fabric of his shorts.

He turns back suddenly and I bump into him, crashing against his hard worked chest.

‘Sorry,’ I say quickly, almost pushing him out of the way. He holds me, steadying me by my arms, the warm touch of his hands sends an electric current through my spine. Unfortunately, it’s not enough to calm my raging stomach.

‘Are you alright?’ he fixes his gaze on mine, his expression of worry.

‘I’m gonna be sick,’ I say lifting my hand to cover my mouth, as if the gesture would avoid what’s coming.

‘I’m taking … t-the stairs. I live d-downstairs,’ I say with effort.

He lets me go and offers me to use his bathroom. I shake my head and make my way towards the staircase, it’s only one floor down.

I can do it.

I take each step as fast as I manage considering I’m wearing high heels, the black ones with red soles I insist on wearing when I have an important day. I’ll be lucky if I make it to the bathroom before breaking my ankle. On the last few steps, when I see the door to my flat, I open my purse to take my keys out, but as always, it’s a whole mess inside it and as usual I can’t find it on the first try, nor the second, or third.

Of course I trip. Then I’m flying.

I can already feel the hard bang of my pretty drunk face hitting the floor, I wince with the anticipation of the pain that’s coming my way, but something pulls me back, making my heart stop for a few long torturous seconds.

Am I gonna fall or what? Well, it seems not.

Chapter Two

I wake up to the familiar sound of my phone’s alarm clock and to the vibration of my watch in my wrist, both set to go off at 5 am. The buggers don’t know anything about hangovers.

Why do I feel like the first pancake of a batch, destroyed and useless? God, everything hurts.

I sit on my bed and try hard to remember how I got here. I smooth my thin, entangled hair as best as I can, but there isn’t much hope of it looking any better.

I look around my room. My black heels are perfectly positioned next to each other by my bedroom’s door. This gets my attention because there is no way I would put them this way. Even when I’m not drunk I kick them each to one side when I get home. I might be controlling with my routine, but that does not include my home’s organisation.

Last night was …

How did I get home again?

I press my fingers to my temple and close my eyes, forcing my mind to go back in time, to last night. All I can think of is my conversation with the girls, the dreadful one about changes. Then, the cute bartender.

Shit. Did I bring someone home?

No, no, I didn’t. I remember now taking an Uber. The girls ordered it for me—I was in no state to do it myself. In fact, I don’t even know where my phone is.

Before I make myself step out of the bed, I look at myself under the duvet and realise I’m not wearing last night’s clothes anymore. I’m still wearing the same lingerie from yesterday though. But I’m wearing a T-shirt too. A large men’s T-shirt. I really don’t remember taking my clothes off and putting this … oh shit.

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