Page 4 of One Night Only
“When can I see you again?” I try to sound so hopeful, borderline frantic, fluttering my lashes for effect.
“Oh, uh…” He glances at that shiny Rolex on his wrist before looking up to the night sky as if in serious deliberation. “I’ll… um… I’ll call you.”
“Okay!” I grin like a moron, knowing full well he doesn’t have my number.
With a chaste kiss to my cheek and a small wave, Jake turns and practically dives into the waiting car. I watch from the sidewalk, waving like an imbecile as the red tail lights disappear down the cobblestone street.
Once I know he’s gone for good, I allow myself to release the breath I’ve been holding, my shoulders sagging with relief. That was a close one.
Taking my phone from my purse, I scroll to the online datingapp and waste no time blocking Jake the fuckboy, because like hell am I going to risk matching with him again.
When I turn around, instead of the bartender, Dallas is standing there, arms folded across his chest as he grins at me. “Sorry… it looked like you needed saving.”
I approach him, offering a knowing smirk. “A phone call from my nanny? Really?”
“I can’t believe he fell for it.” He snorts. “What a dumb shit.”
I laugh, tucking my hair behind my ear and glancing down at the pavement as an awkward silence falls between us. Lifting my chin again, I meet his penetrative eyes. “Well, I guess I should probably go…” I shrug, looking out at the empty street.
“Why? Gotta get home to kids?”
I offer him a wry smile. “No.”
“How about one more drink?” He nods back inside. “On behalf of all men, let me make it up to you for having to deal with that d-bag.”
I’m not sure what it is about this guy. Maybe it’s his dimpled grin, or the mischievous look in his eye, or the fact that I’ve consumed three glasses of wine without eating dinner. Or that it’s been so long since I’ve felt this tug in my belly that I’ve spent the last few years starting to believe I was physically broken. Whatever it is, I don’t think I could say no, even if I wanted to. So, I don’t say no. I walk back inside, purposely brushing past him on my way through the door, and I don’t miss the heat in our touch or the look in his eyes that tells me he felt it too.
Death. Self-inflicted death. Death by hangover. That’s what I imagine might be inscribed in my tombstone while I lie here dying. My mouth tastes like ass. My head throbs as if my brain is trying to break free of its confines, like my skull is about to shatter under the pressure at any minute.
Curling into a ball of self-loathing, I stifle a groan. What thehell did I do last night to make me feel likethis? This is a hangover of unspeakable proportions. Sure, talking about tombstones is dramatic, but with the pain I’m in, I might very well die.
I roll onto my back as slowly as I can to stop my head from spinning. Covering my face with a trembling hand, I close my eyes tight as I try to make sense of the night before.
My stomach knots, and I know I should get up before I’m sick all over myself and my bed, but I can’t find it in me to move. So, I remain as still as I can, peeling one sticky eyelid open and hissing like a vampire at the burn from the morning light streaming in through the wall of windows across from my bed.
Wait a second.
My body stiffens. I suddenly can’t move. Not because of my hangover but because I’m frozen, paralyzed with fear because… I don’t have a wall of windows across from my bed.
Both eyes fly open, bleary gaze focusing enough to make out a picture-perfect image of the East River, the Manhattan skyline across the water.Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.
Holding my breath, I try not to move as I carefully scan the space around me, brows knitting together at the collection of cowboy hats artfully displayed on the exposed brick wall.What the fuck?
Sitting bolt upright, my heart slams against my chest, all traces of my murderous hangover engulfed by the overwhelming panic that’s consumed me.
Where the hell am I?
What the hell did I do last night?
I look down at myself, gasping.
And why the hell am I wearing a—is this a hockey jersey?
Instinctively, I clutch at my breasts beneath the silky material, a million panicked thoughts playing through my head, which is precisely when I notice a body lying beside me.
Oh… my… God.
Holding my breath, I carefully pull back the comforter, revealing the naked back of a man. Smooth, tan skin pulled tautover lean muscles, a white sheet strategically covering the bare minimum, a generous portion ofveryfirm ass cheek on display. I’m forced to slap a hand over my mouth when the wine from last night threatens to make an undignified return.
