Page 67 of The Hookup Situation
“Shit!” I bolt upright, nearly elbowing Nick in the face. “SHIT, SHIT, SHIT!”
“What’s wrong?” Nick mumbles, voice rough from sleep.
I grab my phone and look at the time, seeing it’s 7:43 a.m. I was supposed to open at six.
“I’m almost two hours late!” I scramble out of bed, tripping over the dress I left on the floor last night. “I never set my alarm! Ineverforget to set my alarm!”
Nick sits up, his hair sticking up in twelve directions. “Jules?—”
“No time!” I grab yesterday’s jeans from my chair, hopping on one foot as I pull them on. Fuck it. I grab a sweater from my closet and pull it over my head. “I have to go. The morning rush. Oh God, Blaire is going to kill me.”
“Let me drive you?—”
“I can walk there quicker.” I lean over the bed,grabbing his face and kissing him quick and hard. “Lock up when you leave. Spare key is stuffed behind my fall wreath on the door. Can’t miss it.”
“Your sweat?—”
“Bye!”
I sprint out of my condo, my keys jangling, my hair a disaster. The three-block run to Cozy Coffee nearly exhausts me. When I burst through the back door, I nearly crash into Sierra, who’s carrying a hot tray of chocolate croissants.
“Jules!” She steadies the tray. “We thought you’d died!”
“I’m so sorry!” I tie an apron around my waist, not even bothering to check my appearance. “I forgot to set my alarm. I never forget. I?—”
“Jules.” Blaire appears, arms crossed, trying to look stern but fighting a smile. “Breathe.”
“The morning rush?—”
“Is handled. Tracy came in early. We’ve got it covered.” She looks me up and down, and her smile breaks free. “But, um … you might want to …”
“What?”
She turns me toward the mirror by the office door.
My sweater is on backward. The tag is sticking out under my chin. My hair looks like I’ve been through a tornado. Yesterday’s mascara is giving me raccoon eyes.
“Oh my God.” I cover my face with my hands.
“So,” Blaire says, pulling me into the office, “Nick stayed over?”
“That’s the question you ask?” I glare at her.
“You look like you’ve been mauled.”
“We didn’t have sex. We just did body shots and slept.”
Tracy pokes her head in. “Jules, honey, your sweater’s on?—”
“I know!”
Sierra appears behind her. “Also, you have a huge hickey. Damn.”
“I do not—” I check the mirror again. Fuck. I do.
“Go home,” Blaire says, full-on laughing. “Seriously. You’re a disaster, and we’ve got this covered.”
“But—”
