Page 121 of Twisted Collide

I’m away.

The Saints have a game today, so I stayed in a hotel.

Okay . . . I let out a breath, but as soon as I do, something else hits me . . .

This isn’t my hotel room.

I jerk up, and I instantly regret the move as the room spins, which, in turn, makes my stomach churn.

Inhale. You’re okay.

Once the sick feeling passes, I scan the room. It’s much larger than mine. It’s a suite. But whose?

Memories of the previous night rush over me.

Getting upset when Dane wasn’t paying attention to me. Drinking.

Getting upset when my father tried to talk to me. Drinking.

Drinking for no reason.

Okay, well, that explains why my head is killing me.

What else?

There must be more to last night other than the booze that apparently kept flowing.

An elevator.

Dane in the elevator.

Oh my God.

A pool.

My hands lift, and I bury my head in them.

A groan escapes. “Did I really go swimming last night?”

“Yes.”

Will the world please swallow me whole right now?

I turn toward the door as it flings open. The loud creak sounds like nails on a chalkboard, but it’s the man who’s prowling toward me that has my eyes closing in embarrassment.

“Open your eyes. It’s not that bad.”

I do and see he’s holding a food tray.

When our gazes meet, he smiles. “Morning, Hellfire. How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a truck,” I mumble, pulling the covers up to my chin. “What happened?”

“I thought it was obvious? You got shit-faced.” Dane sets the tray down beside the bed on the side table.

“But why am I here?”

“It was easier to take you down the private elevator for thesuites than down the normal elevator you took from your room. Less chance of getting caught.”

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