Page 25 of My Casanova

What the hell? My sluggish brain struggled to piece together the puzzle of the past twelve hours. He left last night. Right? I squeezed my eyes shut tighter and tried to wade through the fog of my memories. Smoke had driven me and Stan home, that much I remembered. He’d brought me inside, and, oh yeah, he’d ordered pizza. I had a hazy memory of eating said pizza, and Smoke was definitely there... but after that? Blank.

“You’re here,” I croaked into the couch.

“What?” His voice was amused, and closer now. “You’ve got a pillow over you and your face buried in the couch.”

Yeah, I knew. That was kind of the point.

With slow, deliberate movements of someone trying not to disturb anything, I rolled over onto my back. The pillow tumbled off my head and hit the floor with a soft thud. I kept my eyes closed and focused on breathing through the nausea that lurched in my stomach with every tiny shift.

“You okay, angel?” Smoke’s voice was back, laced with a surprising amount of concern.

I held up a hand in his general direction in a silent plea for him to stop talking. I couldn’t handle anything right now other than breathing.

In and out.

Nice and slow.

Wine hangovers were the absolute worst. Normally, I avoided them by not mixing my wines, but yesterday? Yesterday, I had thrown all caution to the wind. We drank everything and anything, and now I was paying the price.

I felt Smoke shift beside me, and the air around me shifted subtly. He was crouching next to the couch. I could sense it.

“Coffee?” he asked simply.

I took a second to consider the question and let the thought of coffee sit with me. My stomach didn’t revolt at the idea, so I rasped out, “Yes, please.”

His low chuckle rumbled through me. “Black, or do you fancy it up?”

“Black,” I muttered. My throat felt like sandpaper.

“Purist. I like it.”

I heard him move away, and he was back in less than a minute. The rich aroma of coffee hit me first, and for the first time since waking up, something in my body stirred that wasn’t pure misery.

“You’re going to have to sit up a bit, angel, unless you want me to just pour it into your mouth.”

A soft smile tugged at my lips despite the throbbing in my skull. “That might be messy.”

“Whatever you want.”

I cracked open one eye and squinted at him. Smoke crouched beside me, held out a steaming cup of coffee, andlooked entirely too put-together for someone who supposedly spent the night here.

That seemed to be how things went when Smoke was around. He wasn’t the kind of guy you could push around, but he had this way of just rolling with whatever came his way.

Still, pouring coffee directly into my mouth was not exactly the vibe I was going for this morning.

I braced myself and slowly—so slowly—pushed myself upright. Each movement was careful and deliberate to avoid triggering another wave of nausea. My head swam a little, but I breathed through it and blinked until my vision cleared. Smoke was still crouched next to me, and he held the coffee out like an offering.

I took it with a shaky hand and finally took a good look at him. He was wearing the same clothes from last night—dark jeans and a worn T-shirt with his leather cut—but somehow, he looked annoyingly good. His dark hair was a little mussed, but in that intentional way, it looked even better. His scruff was perfectly rugged, and his eyes watched me with something like amusement.

“Why do you look so handsome?” I blurted. My filter was clearly still asleep.

Smoke’s lips curled into a smug grin. “I slept in your uncomfortable-as-fuck recliner all night, angel. You might need to get your eyes checked.”

It may have been uncomfortable for him, but it hadn’t physically affected him at all.

The man was just downright handsome. “I have 20/20 vision. I see just fine.” I took a sip of the coffee and sighed. “What time is it?” I asked.

“Uh, half past nine. Stan called ten minutes ago.”

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