Page 21 of Perfectly Wrong

“Yeah,” I whispered. “Come on, let’s take care of you.”

He sat on the bed, grunting as I dabbed at the cut above his eye with the towel. His hands moved up and down my legs, his touch reassuring.

“You looked ridiculous with that towel,” I teased. “Like a low-budget western villain.”

“I know.” He rolled his eyes. “But I’d rather look stupid than let something happen to you. And I know you’d kill me if someone recognized me.”

I stroked his cheek gently. “Thank you for saving me.”

“You’re welcome.” He held my hand to his face and smiled when I yawned. “Looks like you’re the kind of drunk who gets emotional and sleepy.”

“And you’re the kind of drunk who’s a brave idiot.” I rested my head against his.

“We’re a perfect match then,” he murmured. “You cry and sleep, and I take care of you.”

“Deal.”

We shared a slow, lingering kiss before he tucked me into bed.

“Sweet dreams, Lena.” He kissed my cheek, and I drifted off, surrendering to sleep.

Chapter six

Dear God. It’s me, Elena, again. I swear I’ll never get drunk ever again. This hangover is definitely a punishment from hell after last night.

Sam was moving around the room, and I just wanted him to stop. My head felt like it was about to explode, my stomach was on fire, and I was convinced I’d been hit by a truck. The awful taste in my mouth wasn’t helping either. I winced as something clattered to the floor. “For the love of God, Martin,” I groaned. “Can’t you just sit still? People are dying over here.”

He sat down beside me, and I dared to open one eye.

“How are you even alive after last night?”

Sam chuckled. “You really can’t handle your booze, can you?” He handed me a glass of orange juice and a painkiller. “This should help.”

“Doubt it,” I muttered, sinking back into the bed and covering my face with a pillow.

“What time’s your flight tomorrow?”

“I have no idea,” I grumbled. “I think it’s around noon. I’m heading to the airport first thing in the morning.”

He kept trying to make conversation, but I couldn’t handle it. After the third unanswered question, he finally gave up and settled into the armchair by the window. I cracked open my left eye and smiled faintly. He was holding a notebook, scribbling away. I hoped whatever he was writing would turn into the biggest hit of his career.

“Lena?” A familiar voice called softly. “Hey, beautiful. Time to wake up.”

Someone was gently running their fingers through my hair, dropping kisses behind my ear and along my neck.

“Hmm,” I groaned. “Go away.”

A laugh echoed in the room, and I knew exactly who it was. I mean, of course I knew—it wasn’t like there were many options for who else could be in my room. But that laugh, that sweet laugh, confirmed it.

“Wake up. I’m starving, and I don’t want to eat alone.” Sam’s hand was on the back of my neck, kneading it gently.

“If you keep that up, I’ll never leave this bed,” I murmured, smiling as he kissed my cheek. I sat up, still feeling like I’d been hit by a truck. “What time is it?”

“Almost one in the afternoon. I ordered us some lunch.” He gestured to the small table. “Spaghetti with shrimp sauce. I hope you like it.”

I dragged myself out of bed and joined him. Sam handed me a plate as I sat down. The food looked incredible and smelled amazing, but I just stared at it.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Don’t you like it? I can order something else.”

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