Page 32 of Falling for Grace

I’m lying stock still on my bed, doing a little inventory of my body. Wiggling my toes and fingers, moving my legs and arms. Everything is functioning as it should, although it is all feeling a little bit sluggish – kind of like my poor abused brain.

Because ouch.

My head is pounding. It has its own pulse.

I groan and turn over, but where I am expecting to feel the other side of my bed cold and inviting, something warm and hard is in my way, and it’s groaning.

OH. MY. GOD!

I slowly pry my eyes open.

Please don’t let it be ugly, please don’t let it be ugly.

After the initial burn of sunlight has passed and my eyes have adjusted I take in the wall of muscle that is lying in my bed.

Topless, tanned, ribbed-for-my-pleasure muscle. My eyes rake up the torso and hit the face. Strong jaw, full lips, straight nose. I know under those eyelids are dark brown eyes, and the sandy hair is now officially a mop of bed hair rather than the effortless style he rocked last night at the bar.

Ben.

Ben is lying unconscious in my bed. I peek under the covers. He is in his boxers, and I’m in my underwear, and I find myself slightly relieved about that.

I mean, if we had had sex we would have been naked…right?

Better than the thought of having sex with him and having absolutely zero recollection of it.

Because hello…awkward.

He’s still sound asleep, so I turn back over and lie still trying to remember what the hell happened last night.

Shots happened last night, lots and lots of shots.

Stupid Theresa and her “Let's play a game.” I’m going to kill her later.

Tequila, vodka, jager, and beer… Lots and lots of beer.

Oh God. I’m going to vomit again.

I fly out the bed like someone has lit the fire of hell under my ass and stumble through the hallway. I make it to the bathroom just in time, barely keeping my hair out my way in the process.

Ah, my best friend the toilet, we’ve been reunited. I knew the bastards should have left me on the floor.

Warm hands touch my neck and take the hair out of my hands, which drop to the floor, the effort to hold them up too much. I want to push them away, but you know what, I feel horrendous, and I’m throwing up, so I can’t really come back from this. At least this way my hair is safe.

With his other hand, he starts rubbing my back soothingly as I continue to heave into the toilet. After a few minutes there was nothing left but dry heaves.

“I think you’re done.” His hand is resting on my back, and I flop my head down on my arm, tilting it up towards Ben. “And may I just say what a cracking way to be woken up.”

“Could you want me more?” I ask on a groan. I’m feeling mighty sorry for myself.

He laughs. “I’m going to get you some water.” He picks up my hand and places the coolest of kisses on it. Which is so amazingly sweet, but also, eww. I was holding the toilet seat. He’s basically just kissed Theresa’s and my asses.

I manage to push myself up and rest on the bath as I sloppily put toothpaste on my toothbrush and run it pathetically over my teeth and tongue. The fresh mint causes a little party of goodness to fill my mouth, making me immediately feel more human.

I wipe my face and manage to wobble back on tender legs to my bedroom, where I flop back into bed. I find the PJs that Ben pulled out last night and put them on, then burrow down into the duvet.

“Here.” Ben appears with a cold glass of water and some pills. “Theresa is also a mess, she is making you her famous hangover cure.”

“Oh, help me, I’ll be sick again.”

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