Page 37 of The Proposal
The ringing starts all over again.
I pull the pillow over my ears, desperate for the sound to stop.
It takes more effort than I’ve ever used to open my eyes, but somehow I pry the lids apart. I peek into the dark, cool room.What a relief. It must still be night. I’ll just go back to sleep.
My weight shifts as I curl one leg toward me. A warm, sticky liquid pools around my ass. In the haze of the migraine, and tequila, apparently, I try to make sense of the situation.
The phone begins to chirp. And again. And again. And again. Then it starts to ring.Again.
But this time, the pillow helps.
I’ll deal with all of this in the morning. It’s probably just some fuckhead from work thinking it’s cute to tell me happy birthday before anyone else.
I drift off into a sweet, comfortable slumber. But I can’t be asleep for more than a minute when the door flies open and slams into the wall. I jump, my heart going too quickly fromsleep modetospeed mode, and I gag.
I’m never drinking tequila again.
“Get up!” Brock’s voice booms through the room. “Now!”
Lights turn on. Despite my closed eyes, they’re still too bright. The curtains are yanked apart, and the button is pushed that opens the space to the atrium. Bright sunlight floods the bedroom.
“Stop yelling,” I mumble, rolling over. “Turn the lights off.”
“Um, Blakely? You probably need to get up right now, friend.” Ella’s voice is soft and at head level.
I squint open one eye and see her pretty face. “No. I’m good.” I close it again.
“Blake …” Ella takes my hand and pats it with hers. “Come on. You need to wake up.”
I whine, straightening my legs. The warm stickiness sloshes around me.Fuck. What is that?
The phone starts ringingagain. This time, it’s followed by another one.
“Oh my gosh,” I say, wincing with pain. “Turn that thing off.”
“They’re going to keep ringing until you two wake the fuck up and deal with this,” Brock says, his voice ten decibels too loud.
I groan, reaching behind me and pushing Ella away. My hand touches her.Wait.
I still. The fog begins to roll away, and reality starts to float in.
Ella is right in front of me. I squint again. This time, I see the knowing concern on her face.And Ella doesn’t have a dick.
Slowly, I withdraw my hand from what has to be a morning hard-on. Even more carefully, I open both eyes.
Ella stands. Her hair is a mess and she’s in Brock’s T-shirt.
My brother stands in a pair of boxers by the foot of the bed, looking like he’s ready to rip someone apart limb by limb.
So if they’re there, then …
Oh no.
I struggle to sit up. Ella loops an arm under my shoulder and helps me upright. The room ripples like we’re on a boat, but I distinctly remember we’re in Vegas.
With Renn.
My gaze drops to the bed beside me.
