Page 11 of Tangled up in You

“No, I can’t.” I frown.

She snorts. “Good luck resolving that mess. Waffles are in the freezer.”

“Thanks,” I mumble as she leaves.

I am so screwed.

CHAPTER 6

OLIVER

Waking up with a screaming headache is a rude reminder that I can no longer drink without consequences as I did in my twenties. I’d like nothing more than to go back to that time. Back to before I met my ex-wife. While I had great affection for her and compatibility, we learned the hard way that I would never love her the way that I loved someone else.

I glance to my right.

That someone is no longer lying beside me.

I sit up in bed and slap Simon in the face with a pillow. “Get up. She’s gone.”

“What?” He jerks upright, then groans and grabs his head. “Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah,” I grumble. Peering down at Kent snoring on the floor, I toss a different pillow at him. “Your turn.”

He snorts awake. “God, what? It’s like we’re back in high school. Do you have to be so loud in the morning?”

“Painkillers. Where are they?”

“Bathroom.” Kent scrubs a hand over his face before sitting up on one elbow and opening one eye. “Fuck, I feel old. I’m not sure what hurts more: my back or my head.”

Tossing the blanket aside, I pause. I’m fucking naked. I pull the blanket back over my privates, because I am not the same person I was last night.

I snap my fingers. “Pants.”

“Get them yourself.” Kent falls back with a groan. “I can’t get up.”

“I can’t see them without my glasses, fuckface.”

“Geez. Both of you are useless.” Simon gets out of bed.

He bends to grab something off the floor by Kent’s feet. I cringe, thankful I’m blind enough that his white ass is blurry.

“Dude!” Kent protests. “Clothes.”

“Oh, shut up, you big baby.” Simon scoffs. He throws me my pants before pulling on his own. “We’re too old to be modest about our fucking bodies.”

“Says the eternal playboy,” I mutter.

Our bickering isn’t new. It’s what we’ve always done. Twenty years with minimum contact hasn’t changed that. Obviously.

Simon passes me my glasses, then shoots me a bird close to my face so I can see it. I swat his hand away. He chuckles as he continues getting dressed.

“Is Melanie downstairs?” he asks.

“I doubt it,” I say, putting on my own clothes. “She probably went home.”

“Why the hell would she do that?”

Kent grunts as he pulls on his jeans and gets to his feet. “Probably upset. She was drinking a lot.”

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