Page 137 of In It to Win It

I go backward in my mind... pretty sure I brought my purse... which has my phone in it... it has to be here somewhere.

And where is Wyatt?

Welp. Best find out.

I throw back the covers and swing my legs over the side of the bed. A sick wave washes over me, but it doesn’t last long. I think I’ll live.

I eye the room. The open door appears to be an en suite bathroom. Excellent.

Feet bare, I pad across the big bedroom to the bathroom. I barely note the gorgeous stone tiles, a massive shower with multiple heads, and the big granite vanity as I take care of business. As I wash my hands, I observe my reflection. Hair standing on end, mascara smudged beneath my eyes, and... is that...whisker burnon my jaw and throat? Dear God. I close my eyes.

Then I draw in a deep breath and tiptoe across the bedroom to the other door. I’ve never been here before and even though this condo is in the same building as my nephew’s, where I’ve been many times, it’s a completely different layout. But I find my way to the kitchen/living area, which I now vaguely remember from last night.

The place is empty.

This is good. Great. I spy my purse on the coffee table and make a beeline for it. I can grab it and get the hell out of here before I have to face Wyatt.

“Morning.”

I jump, my feet literally leaving the floor, and whirl around at the deep, gritty voice.

Oh sweet Jesus, he looks just as good the morning after. His dark gold hair is kind of long on top and right now it’s tousled all over. Dark gold beard stubble shadows his jaw. His eyes are hazel, and I know from seeing him close up they’re more green than brown, with gold flecks in them. I nearly whimper. “Morning,” I choke out.

“Want some breakfast?” He stretches and the T-shirt he’s wearing rises and reveals skin between the hem and the top of the sweatpants, which are sitting so indecently low on his hips they should be illegal. Not to mention the, uh, enticing bulge at his groin, which is clearly recognizable. I swallow as I avert my gaze. “Or coffee?”

“No! I’m good. I need to go. Uh...”

“Yeah?” He heads to the kitchen and the Keurig on the counter, popping in a K-Cup.

“Where did you sleep?”

He turns and flashes a wicked smile. “You don’t remember?”

I trudge toward him, straightening my dress. “I don’t remember much. Ugh.”

He purses his lips and studies me. “You feel okay?”

I drop my purse on the counter and lean my elbows there. “If by ‘okay’ you mean feeling like my brain is bleeding out my eyes, my stomach is full of battery acid, and I’m about to die in five minutes, then yes, I feel okay.”

He bites down on the smile that tugs at his lips. “That good, huh.”

“Okay, I’m exaggerating.”

“Here.” He opens a cupboard and produces a small white bottle. He shakes out a gel cap and hands it to me, reaching next for a glass, which he fills with water from the fridge dispenser.

“Thank you.” I toss the pill into my mouth and swallow it. I guzzle that delicious cold water down until the glass is empty. “God, that’s good water.”

His lips twitch again. “Sure you don’t want coffee? Some toast might help with the battery acid.”

I sink onto a stool and rest my head in my hands. I want to leave, but I also want to feel better. “Okay.”

“I slept in the spare room.” He busies himself at the Keurig again, then the toaster.

“Oh.”

“After you passed out, I figured I’d let you sleep it off alone.”

I gasp in outrage. “I did not pass out!”

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