Page 58 of The Fine Line
There’s a shirtless man at the kitchen sink. Back to me. Washing his face. A backwards hat covers his hair. I have no idea who he is.
So… we didn’t drunkenly bond with one of my female classmates and come back for a wholesome little sleepover. Got it.
I inch forward, scanning the living room of what’s clearly a luxury high-rise in downtown Austin, hoping to spot either clues—or a way to escape.
Instead, I spot my reflection in amirror.
My hair is a rat’s nest. Black mascara smudged beneath both eyes. Even if I’ve been kidnapped, I decide I shouldn’t look like this when I make a run for it.
I run my fingers through my bob, wincing, and swipe beneath my eyes. The comforter slips halfway down in the process. That’s when I finally see the shirt’s design.
“Oh. My. God.”
The man at the sink jumps and spins around.
And when I confirm what I was silently praying not to be true, I scream.
Loud enough for Rhett to cover his ears—even over his headphones.
“Good morning to you too,” he says, pulling them off.
I yank the comforter up, hiding the Texas Storm practice shirt with his number plastered across the front.
“Oh my God—I—You—What—Get out!” I sputter.
Rhett raises both hands like I’m pointing a gun at him. “This is my apartment.”
“Why?” I shriek, still wrestling with the blanket.
“Well, it’s a good halfway point between the arena and the practice center. Nice appliances. I always thought I was more of a granite guy, but they really sold me on the quartz?—”
“No,” I cut in. “Why. Am. I. Here?”
Rhett tilts his head. “Cub, you were very drunk last night. But… you don’t remember?”
“No.” My pulse stutters. “Oh my God. Did we—” I wave a hand between us, unable to say it.
“What?” His brows pull together, then comprehension dawns. “No. Of course not.” He steps around the counter. “Jesus Christ, Baby Bear.No.”
“Then why am I here? Why was I in your bed? Why are you not wearing a shirt? Why am I wearing this—oh my God. You took my clothes off?”
“Whoa, whoa,” Rhett says, waving his arms. “I didn’t take your clothes off. You did that yourself.”
“Right,” I deadpan. “And then I just jumped into your bed?”
“Actually… yes.”
My spine snaps straight. “What?”
“You were way past drunk. I tried to take you home, but you couldn’t remember your address. Your phone was dead. You threatened to murder me if I called your dad. So I brought you here.”
“To sleep in your bed?”
“Not intentionally. But that’s where you ended up.”
I narrow my eyes.
“For the record, I wasn’t in the bed with you.”
