Page 38 of In For a Penny
I’m dead. Or dying. Oneof the two. But I am definitely not feeling alive right now. My mouth is so dry it feels like I’ve been walking through the desert for weeks. Idesperatelyneed water.
Wherethe fuckam I?
It’s still dark out, but the streetlight outside peeks through the windows. Thankfully, I am not entirely in the dark. I check my surroundings and realize I’m not in my place.
Oh my God. Okay. Don’t panic.
I have never, ever blacked out and woken up at another guy’s apartment, but by the looks of the rugby memorabilia and dirty men’s workout gear in the corner of the room, that’spreciselywhere I seem to currently find myself in.
I take a deep breath and look over to my right to see who the mystery man is and grimace.
Of course. Oliver.
He’s bundled up under the covers into what seems like a ball, looking a little less harmless than usual. Oliver looks cold, which makes me realize that I, too, amfuckingfreezing. Why am I so cold, though?
Oh. I seem to be wearing significantly less clothing than when I left the house.
This hangover has me stupid.
I shiver and lift the comforter to check just how naked I am. Thank the Lord, I’m at least in my underwear. The jeans that I had changed into before leaving the house are on the floor by the bed. My shirt, I notice nervously, is nowhere to be seen.
I am literally in my underwear next to Oliver in his bed.
I. AM. MORTIFIED.
I deserve this. This is my life. I make bad choices, so this is what I get.
Goddammit.
One of my closest friends here, and I’ve gone and messed it up. I won’t be able to hang with him anymore. Not when he’s seen me naked. Who knows if he’ll even want to keep hanging out with me, anyway? What if that was it?
Ugh.
Oliver groans and rolls over onto his stomach in his sleep, the comforter slipping from his upper body, showing off his broad shoulders and back—because Oliver is not wearing a shirt either.
I can’t see his bottom half, but his upper half is naked—and it looks fucking great. I mean, I can see why Drunk Penny would want to sleep with him. His upper body isinsane. How often does this man work out? His muscles flex, and I shock myself by needing to suppress a groan.
Oh no. He’s hot. How did I not realize this?
I lift the comforter to check on his clothing status.
Oh my God, he’s naked. He’s naked. He is buck-naked under the sheets.
Shit, shit, shit, shit! SHIT. I totally slept with him. You can’t fall asleep next to that and not sleep with him.
Never, even in my worst post-breakup idiocy, have I ever,evergotten black-out drunk and slept with someone. I came close once but had a friend save me and take me home with her instead.
Please let me not have slept with him. Please.
I will admit I have thought about it. Even in my denial, I could tell Oliver is attractive (I’m not blind, okay?), and I mean, hehasbeen throwing himself at me since the second I met him. So...yeah. I always thought it was an option, but not one I would ever choose.
As I said, Oliver is an excellent friend. I’ve trusted parts of myself to him that I haven’t to other people.
I stretch my body a little, checking for any signs whatsoever of whether I had sex last night or not. I wince as I realize my left ass cheek hurts and grimace as I remember the monumental mistake that was the group tube pole-dancing extravaganza. What an idiot. If there was any question on the state of my life up until this point, please take this as further evidence that I am a complete and utter mess.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid Penny.
I rub my temples and squeeze my eyes shut. I need water. I need my shirt. I need to remember. I need to remember. I need to remember what happened last night.
