Page 22 of Along Comes Trouble

TESSA

H oly crap.

What in the name of anything and everything happened last night ?

I roll over in bed and groan as the entire world swirls around me. What time is it? Am I still drunk? The piercing light wailing at me through the crack in my curtains must mean it’s morning, but how in the world did I even get home ?

I blink and try to swallow around a mouthful of cotton. My vision smears into focus and on my bedside table is a bottle of water and bottle of ibuprofen. I struggle into a sitting position, prop my head in my hands and wait for the room to catch up to me .

There’s a note. I peer at it until the words make sense .

Drink me. Eat me .

Two arrows point to the bottle of water and bottle of pills in turn, with a giant smiley face under the words Eat me . The handwriting is atrocious. Is this drunk me trying to take care of morning me? Or did I come home with someone last night ?

I rub my eyes and stare at the space beside me in bed. It’s empty and if the state of the sheets is any indicator, it has been all night. Plus, I’m still wearing my costume, so if anyone did come home with me, they left horribly disappointed .

My stomach lurches crazily when I take the pills and my head throbs enough for me to drop back on the pillow and throw an arm over my eyes. Come on, Tessa. Think. What happened? I remember playing pool with Colton. Then Sarah telling me she was leaving with someone …

After that …

It’s foggy as hell .

Did Colton and I actually play a drinking game? Good lord. What the hell was I thinking? Maybe I’m not cut out to hang with the younger two Carmichaels. I bet I’d get along better with Claire’s dad. I’m not a parent, but I’ve got lesson plans to build and mortgages to save for. If last night is any indicator of life with Sarah and Colton, this morning is evidence enough that their way of living is not for me .

I moan and pull the sheets around me while my stomach churns. Whatever time it is, it’s too early to be awake. I close my eyes and pray the ibuprofen stays in my stomach long enough to do its job .

* * *

W ho knows how much later,my phone buzzes at me from its place on the bed. It might as well be a chainsaw against my head for all I know and to make matters worse, it’s probably Sarah. Maybe she’s texting to check in on me after last night. Maybe she wants to apologize. Maybe she wants to tell me all the things she did with whoever the heck she went home with, but I really don’t care. My head hurts and I’m mad at her for leaving me high and dry like she did .

I know I don’t really have a reason to be mad at her. I’m the one who kept sucking down Long Islands like they weren’t alcoholic. If anyone is to blame, it’s totally me. I’m a big girl who can take responsibility for her actions. That doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want to talk to her. Not even a little bit. Not until the world stops feeling like it’s made of sandpaper and steel wool and nails on chalkboards .

I pull back the covers and sit on the edge of the bed. My head throbs, but the room isn’t spinning, a definite improvement from the first time I woke up. I finish the water on my bedside table and my stomach churns. What is it that’s supposed to cure hangovers? Greasy food? There’s no way I’m getting behind the wheel right now, so that’s going to have to wait. Coffee though, that’s a different story. I stumble down the stairs and brew a pot while systematically checking off every food item in my pantry as not currently edible. When the coffee’s done, I pour a cup and drag my tired ass back upstairs and into the bathroom .

My wig is a disheveled heap on the floor and my reflection isn’t much better. My gorgeous costume is a wrinkled disaster and my carefully applied makeup is a smudged mess around my swollen eyes. My hair is matted to my head and I don’t even want to think about what my breath must smell like. I draw a bath, pour some Epsom salts into the water, and brush my teeth as I wait for the tub to fill .

Yeah. This is not me. Even when I was in college, I was the one who went home early and woke up refreshed while the rest of the campus shuffled around, huddled over steaming cups of coffee like zombies. In fact, I can’t remember a time when I woke up with a giant hole in my memory where the end of last night should be. I think I was born too mature to lose a day feeling like shit simply because I made a few irresponsible decisions the night before .

Just as I lower myself into the tub, my phone shrieks with another incoming text. I check the screen and see that this one is from Colton. Yeah. Not going to happen. I’m going to soak in the tub until I feel mostly human, even if that means I have to fill the thing up again with fresh water after I get too cold. I’ll figure out what to do about the Carmichaels later .

The warm water does its job, loosening my muscles as steam fogs up the mirror. I slide deeper into the tub, letting the water creep up around my face, and then close my eyes and drop my head back, my hair swirling out around me. When I emerge, I squeeze out a healthy dollop of shampoo and rub it into my scalp. I’d prefer to wash my hair in the shower so I know I get all the product out of it, but right now, I’m just doing my best to feel mostly human for the rest of the day .

While I scrub, flashes of last night surface. Colton looking like a demi-god in his costume. The way his face lights up when he laughs. The rush of excitement when he stood behind me, teaching me to throw a dart. I remember how vindicated I felt when I teased him at the pool table and then how much I loved feeling his body wrapped around mine, his breath in my hair .

More flashes try to emerge. Me slipping off a barstool. Me tucked under his arm in a cab, my hand sliding up, up, up his thigh. They’re wispy, mostly unformed, and could just as easily be a dream as they could be things that actually happened .

I dip my head under water and blow air out my nose. Maybe my spotty memory is a defense mechanism. Maybe I really don’t want to know what happened last night .

Once the shampoo is out of my hair, I reluctantly pull the plug and let the water swirl down the drain. My rumbling stomach has decreed bath time over. It’s time to figure out the food situation. I step out of the tub, water dripping all around me and reach for a towel when downstairs, someone bangs on my front door .

I startle and freeze. All that commotion doesn’t come from someone knocking. That is a fist slamming into the door repeatedly. Insistently. Is it the cops ?

My God .

What happened last night ?

Spurred into action, I opt to squeeze out my dripping hair and wrap a towel around my body before running down the stairs. I crack open the door, ready to make some vague excuse about needing just a minute but stare in shocked silence when I discover Colton standing on my doorstep in his ball cap and a pair of aviator glasses, looking even better than he did last night .

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