Page 1 of Lovetown, USA
1
Lane
Next to me, inmy bed, a naked man stirs under the covers, and I have no idea who the hell he is.
My skull pounds relentlessly. It feels like a pressure cooker that’s ready to blow. My mouth is cotton, and my eyes feel like someone threw me face down into a pile of sand.
I shoot another bleary-eyed glance at the naked man, then rummage around for my phone. I breathe a sigh of relief when my fingertips brush against something hard—not the naked man—and come up with my cell, but my relief is short-lived when I see the time.
“Shit!” I bolt upright, grimacing as the room spins like a disco ball. Speaking of…there may have been one of those in the mix last night.
Fuck.
Like my good sis Jazmine Sullivan said, I gotta stop getting fucked up. Thirty-eight is way too old for this shit.
I jump out of bed and somehow manage to get myself cleaned up in twenty minutes, which isn’t really a victory because I’m still gonna be an hour late to work.
I throw on a sheath dress and some earrings, sliding a bracelet on my arm as I walk back into my bedroom. I stare down at the naked man for a second, still confused. There’s a tattoo I vaguely remember licking. He’s handsome as hell. Strong jaw. Dark skin. Muscles.
I hit that handsome face with a pillow.
“Time to go,” I announce. “I have shit to do.”
He groans, andthat’sfamiliar, too. When he sits up, he squints at me through one eye.
Damn. He’s fine as hell.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” I say, “but…what’s your name?”
He chuckles. “You’re funny, Lane.”
Okay, so he knowsmyname. That means we talked first, at least. But now he has the upper hand, and I don’t like that.
“I’m serious,” I say as I slide my feet into my heels. “Remind me.”
He reaches high for a stretch just as my eye catches the sight of a bra hanging off the lamp. I’ve never seen it before in my life. Is it mine? Is ithis? What the fuck is happening here?
Now he’s smiling at me. “Rashid is my name, sweetheart. I’m surprised you forgot, the way you were screaming it last night.”
I sit with that for a moment.
Nothing is coming back to me, but now I’m intrigued. And a little turned on. But also irritated.
“Rashid,” I repeat. “Cool. Put your clothes on, Rashid.”
I watch him dress, tapping my fingers against the side of my thigh because I need him to speed it the fuck up. I’m on thin ice at work. This isn’t gonna help.
On our way downstairs, he says, “When can I see you again?”
I stop in the kitchen to grab an apple cinnamon muffin. “Probably never.”
“You serious?”
I take a bite, wrap up the rest, and drop it into my tote. “I don’t date men I can’t remember. House rule.”
He laughs like that was a joke. I let my eyes scan the length of him, all six-foot plus inches ofman, and remind myself that men are just toys for me now. Disposable. Use once and throw away.
I grab an apple from the bowl on the counter and hand it to him. “Let’s go, Rashid. Some of us have to work for a living.”
