Page 6 of Nash

I laugh. “No, I just thought that’s what you were doing.”

“Do you want me to?” he asks, shifting his weight in front of me.

“I…” I don’t know how to answer that. The hesitance must show on my face because he gives me a sweet smile and nods.

“Not tonight,” he says. “You need to get some rest, anyway.”

“I do.”

“Happy New Year, Reese’s Pieces,” he says, leaning down and planting a kiss on my forehead before heading back down my hallway and out my front door.

I finish all the water and Gatorade before I get up to lock the door, totally chiding myself for my lack of courage. That was my shot at some no-strings fun with Nash Stokehill and I blew it. But, to be fair, I didn’t want to spend the night with him when I likely wouldn’t remember it tomorrow.

The room is spinning too much to lay down, so I pull out my phone and rifle through tonight’s footage. I actually scored some great content, and Nash looks way too heroic hauling me out ofThe Queen’s Rumnot to post. I mean, all our followers will think he’s a knight in shining armor, and it’s the least I can do for him after he took such good care of me.

I make a few edits and pair it with a fun background sound and hit post, the action helping relax my body enough to sleep.

I hate everything.

Alcohol is the absolute worst.

It's the only thing I can think as I force myself to roll out of bed despite every single one of my muscles feeling like they were run through the garbage disposal.

My head is pounding, and my stomach feels wobbly as I hurry to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face.

I take a little extra time going through my normal morning routine, hating that my alarm woke me for a veryrealwork day.I do my best to cover the circles under my eyes, little moments of the night before flashing to the forefront of my mind.

Having way too much fun with my girlfriends.

Nash's lips on mine, his hands on my hips.

Him carrying me out of the bar, bringing my drunk ass home, and ensuring I drank Gatorade before bed.

The last memory makes me laugh, and I shake my head, doing my best not to be swallowed by a well of mortification. At least I didn’t beg him to stay, and with the state I was in, I’m kind of surprised I didn't.

I'm just finishing getting dressed when the memory of posting a video comes crashing back to me like an anvil dropping on my head.

Fuck.

I race back to my bedroom, diving on my bed for my phone and unlocking my screen, clicking on the Badgers social account that I happen to run.

“Ohmigod,” I say aloud as I notice my notifications are maxed out. “Oh, Jesus, what did I do?”

Panic streaks through me as I rush to the latest posted video, my hungover-addled brain barely providing enough information for me to remember properly. I click the video, my heart in my throat.

It's me.

Holy shit, it's not just me, but also Nash throwing me over his shoulder and calling mehis girlas he looks charming as hell carrying me out.

I blow out a breath, relief washing through me that I hadn't posted something more embarrassing, or something that would be detrimental to the team’s reputation.

And then I go to the comments.

There arethousandsof comments.

My brain throbs as I skim through most of them, shock rattling through me at the interest in the once notorious bachelor of the Bangor Badgers having called someone—me—his girl.

Viewers are eating it up, most of the comments asking who I am as much as they’re rooting for me.

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