Page 55 of Promised Love

There’s early morning light in the gym, in addition to the side lamp I possibly left on.

“Shit! What time is it?” I try to get up, but my head swims.

“It’s six thirty.”

“What are you doing here so early?” I ask, grabbing the handrail of the treadmill.

“I always come at this time,” the older gentleman replies with a smile on his face, and then he asks me, “But what are you doing here? I hope your wife didn’t throw you out.”

I’ve always found Mr. Big to be that person who knows everything about his surroundings. I don’t know much about his background, but he wasn’t always an innkeeper.

“No. I couldn’t sleep and thought I’d lift some weights, but then I fell asleep here.” I give him a lame-o excuse, which he of course doesn’t buy.

“You shouldn’t be doing any sports in your condition, Mr. Spencer.” He points toward my arm.

I nod and am about to leave the room when he stops me. “I’ll send some coffee and a personal blend I drank in my younger days after I had too much to drink.”

“Thanks. That would be great, because right now, my brain is like a roller coaster.”

“Do I need to send two glasses?” He peers at me over his half-rimmed glasses.

When I hum a yes, a thin line forms on his lips.

Does he think it was me who got her drunk?

Does it even matter?

* * *

I leave Mr. Big in the gym and lumber toward the suite. My legs fucking shake as I pull the door open. My heart races in panic when I find the bed empty, until I spot Autumn sleeping on the couch.

She’s buried under the covers, and only her face peeks out. I’ve noticed she gets cold and likes to sleep completely hidden, with loads of blankets.

And that’s a good thing

A very good thing.

Because I’m having a hard time putting my crazy imagination in check. I don’t know what my brain will do if I get a glimpse of her bare skin.

I give my sleeping wife one last look before striding toward the closet.

When I walk out of the bathroom, freshly showered and changed, Autumn is sitting on the couch holding her head, and there’s a tray with a coffee carafe and two tall glasses filled with some green stuff. There’s even a bread basket with some toast.

“Good morning,” I say, stopping a good distance away from her.

Autumn jerks up. “Good morning,” she whispers and then falls on top of her duvet. “My head hurts like I haven’t slept in two days. If I’d have known this is how I’d feel after shots, I’d have never taken them.” Her voice is muffled as she presses her face into the white fabric.

But those words fill me with fresh guilt. It was her first time. Shouldn’t I have prepared her in some way? How many did she even have? Four, Five?

“I’m sorry,” I blurt, hoping hard that she understands I’m not only talking about the drinks but also…later.

Autumn turns her face slightly and peeks at me from the corner of her eyes.

“Lukas.” She sits up straight. “About…what happened in the car. I’m—”

“I’m really sorry about that too. I promise it won’t happen again.” My hands curl into fists at my sides.

“You don’t have to apologize. It’s okay,” she mumbles, playing with her fingers, making me wonder how many times she’s found herself in such a predicament.

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