Page 29 of Accidental Baby For My Brother’s Best Friend

Gemma

Idon’t get hangovers and I don’t black out. Ah, the good old days. That statement, again, it’s proven wrong. My head is pounding before I even attempt to peel open my eyes.

My eyelids feel sticky and I have to blink a few times to get the bleariness out of my vision. To my shock, there’s a man lying beside me, the broad expanse of his back tan and wide.

The fact that I slept with a stranger is a little disconcerting, but I sit up gingerly, planning to sneak out. When I stand up, I look down at the guy snoring in the unfamiliar hotel room, curious as to what kind of guy drunk me picked out.

My hand flies to my mouth to cover it when I see Locke Kincaid’s strong jaw snuggled into the pillow.

“What the fuck?” I whisper, my voice sounding muffled beneath my palm.

I rack my brain, trying to remember what happened after that last shot I took with Axel and then a memory hits me like a freight train.

His large hands tugged down my shorts, sliding back up to squeeze the flesh of my hips and I panted as he kissed along the backs of my thighs, pressing his teeth into one curve of my ass before he stood up, standing behind me. He pressed one hand down on my lower back and instantly I arched and bent over the sink, gasping as he pressed his erection against my ass.

“Want you so much, little bit,” he mumbled, brushing my hair back from my shoulder and pressing his mouth there, biting gently, not quite hard enough to leave a mark.

I moaned because I wanted him to leave marks, wanted more of him, and when I opened my eyes he was staring into the mirror, giving me that smirk that was so similar to the one he’d given me in that bar bathroom, with that bartender like putty under him. I couldn’t blame her, not now that I knew what it was like to have his hands all over me.

“Gemma,” he moaned against me when I pressed my ass back against him.

“Say it again,” I said throatily.

“Gemma,” he moaned again, louder, and I turned to kiss him.

“Oh my God,” I whisper, and bolt around the room, tugging on my shorts and my top, not bothering to look for my bra and underwear. I need to get out of here, andnow.If I’m lucky, he won’t remember as much as I do and it’ll be like this never happened. No one but me would ever know that I lost my virginity to Locke Kincaid.

Locke makes a snuffling noise in his sleep and I turn and dart out of the room, remembering at the last minute to slip on my heels. I look around and realize that I’m doing the walk of shame in a completely unfamiliar hotel. This isn’t the nice hotel attached to Aphrodite’s Lounge, which I’d booked four rooms in. No, this was at best a Best Western; apparently Locke and I had the sense last night to book a different hotel so that no one would know.

If it were anyone else, I would be offended, but I didn’t want my brother or any of the Spades (or anyone at all, really) to know that I hooked up with Locke, and getting a different hotel was the best way to keep it secret.

Good thing, too, because nothing like this willeverhappen again. I won’t allow myself to drink a single drop on the rest of this tour. I know the old adage about tequila making women’s clothes come off, but I never knew that it wastrue.

Thankfully, I find my phone in my purse and schedule an Uber back to the casino hotel. Another memory, blurry but intense, comes floating into my mind as I ride the elevator down to the ground floor.

Locke kissed me hard, pressing me against the back railing of the elevator. His hands slid up under my shirt, skirting the outsides of my breasts and I kissed his throat and neck over and over.

“God,” Locke groaned, and then he pulled away, staring down at me, his brown eyes dark with something I was too lustful and tipsy to name.

He cupped my breasts with his hands and my nipples tightened.

“Did he touch you like this?” His voice was low and husky and something about his tone shot pleasure up my spine.

“Who?” I asked, and Locke tilted his head down to kiss me, chuckling into my mouth.

“Right answer.”

I shiver even though the air outside is dry and hot, rubbing my arms as I wait for the Uber. WhatwasLocke talking about? Of course I hadn’t advertised my virginity to the group, but all of them knew I didn’t have time for a boyfriend, and they also knew how protective Jackson was.

The Uber driver doesn’t even blink, and I wonder how many times he’s had to pick up some girl dressed in club clothes from this hotel. This is Vegas, after all.

I manage to get into my hotel room without anyone seeing me, which is a miracle since it’s nearing ten in the morning and Jackson’s room is on the same floor as mine. I look in the mirror after I wash off my makeup, wondering if I look any different. I always thought it was stupid, how girls said that: “Do I look different?” As if losing your virginity was visible on the outside somehow.

I gingerly touch the marks on my throat which look red and angry. I guess in a way, itdoesshow on the outside. I owe Susie Carmichael from tenth grade an apology.

Thank God I packed a sleeveless turtleneck that I can wear on our trip to the next city. Although I’m usually on top of our itinerary, after everything that happened last night, I don’t even remember where we’re going next or what time we’re leaving. There are ten weeks left in the tour and twelve more performances, I know that, at least. Ten weeks seems like an extremely long time to ignore Locke Kincaid.

I’m grateful that I schedule most of our departures at noon or later, just because I know my boys and they aren’t exactly early risers. I desperately need a shower because I smell like tequila and whatever cologne Locke uses and I look like hell, my hair is a mess.

I hope I don’t have any more sudden memories about my night with Locke Kincaid, because it makes me ache in places I never have, and I’m already sore. As I step into the shower and look down at the marks on my breasts, I groan. From the brief memories I have of last night, Locke is a possessive lover, which unfortunately happens to be one of my favorite things. I guess it’s because I used to read all my mother’s Harlequin romance books and they were full of male leads who went crazy over any other man so much as looking at the female lead.

Since I’m inexperienced, most of my favorite things in a man are either what I’ve read or the guys I’ve been around, and unfortunately, Locke fits both of those things. He’s my type, whether or not I like to admit it, at least, physically and in bed.

If I keep having flashbacks of how aggressive and possessive he is in bed, I’m going to have a hard time pretending that he doesn’t exist, which is my new plan.

Between those fractured memories and the marks on my neck, breasts, and inner thighs, Locke made sure that even though I barely remember it, last night will be hard to forget.

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