Page 50 of Merry Me
Fuck. It hurt to think.
At some point I’d obviously blacked out.
I groaned internally, squeezing my eyes shut as if that would somehow rewind time and undo the absolute disaster I had walked into on my own two feet.
Or my vagina. I was pretty sure that my traitorous vagina had been steering last night’s ship, and clearly she’d decided to go down with it. In spectacular fashion.
I should move. I needed to move.
I would move.
Any second now.
Except the second I tried to shift away from him, my body revolted like I was betraying it. My head pounded in angry pulses, my stomach twisted in a way that did not feel promising, and everything,everything, felt like it had been run over by a Mack truck.
I felt gross. Hungover and sticky and in dire need of a shower.
Easton let out a low sigh in his sleep, his chest rising and falling against mine in the rhythm of someone completely at peace.
Must be nice.
I stared at the ceiling, debating whether I should try to sneak out or just die right here. But the warmth of him, the safety I hadn’t felt inso long, it wrapped around me like a blanket I didn’t remember missing until it was back.
Just for a second, I told myself.
Just one, tiny, hungover second.
I’d lie here.
Let the room stop spinning. Let the nausea fade. Then I’d escape this tangled mess of limbs and lust and lies with what little remained of my dignity.
That was the plan.
The very solid, very reasonable plan.
But instead of eventually moving…I melted.
The tension drained from my shoulders. My fingers relaxed their death grip on the sheet. My head dropped back against his chest like it had always belonged there.
And before I could talk myself out of it, before I could remind myself of the million reasons this was a bad idea…I drifted off again.
Warm. Sated. Safe.
Curled in the arms of the one man I hadabsolutelysworn I was over.
EASTON
I wasn’t going to let her avoid me.
She was trying. I’d give her that. Like her life depended on it. Like eye contact might actually kill her. Frankly, it was adorable.
We were at some post-party event Paige and Levi were calling a Hangover Brunch—complete with a Bloody Mary bar, mimosas in the hands of toddlers—Okay,not really,but it felt that way—and whispers of a Santa appearance. The whole thing felt like a fever dream of holiday chaos, but it was a good call. Nearly everyone who’d been at karaoke last night had beenobliterated. Including Natalie.
MyNatalie.
Fuck, she’d been cute last night…just soft and tipsy enough to stop pretending she didn’t want to hold my hand. Her head had rested on my shoulder like it had always belonged there. I’d even snuck a couple selfies of us while she wasn’t looking—nothing scandalous, just her tucked into my side with the kind of peace on her face that made my chest hurt.
I’d wait to show her those, though. Timing was everything. Right now, she’d probably scream and launch her mimosa at me if I even hinted at them.
