Page 30 of The Fangirl and the Crooner

How hard those imaginings made me come.

I try not to think any more about it as I quickly wash up and rinse off. Turning off the water, I open the door and grab a towel from the wall rack. Wrapping it around my waist, I step out and move to the sink to brush my teeth.

When I finish, I walk back into the bedroom, pick up my dirty clothes and toss them into the hamper, and pull a clean pair of boxer briefs from my dresser drawer. Dropping the towel I pull them on before picking the towel up off the floor and shoving it on top of the dirty clothes. Then I turn out the lights and climb into bed.

Sleep evades me for a long time. I can’t stop thinkingabout Pressley and how things could be between us if I allowed myself to show her how much I want her. Then I rebuke myself for even thinking it. I know keeping things simple is the better choice.

The cycle starts again, the internal debate driving me mad before I finally start to doze off. Realizing I’m fading, I breathe deep and let the air out slowly.

I’m just going to have to figure this out tomorrow.

Chapter

Nineteen

Pressley

“Oh, God.”

The groaned words only intensify the pounding in my head, chasing the last dregs of sleep from my body. Lifting my hands to my face, I press my fingertips against my temples and massage in slow circles for several moments, but it doesn’t seem to help.

Shit. How much did I drink last night? And where the hell am I?

Cracking open one eye, I lift my head slightly and look around before dropping it back to the pillow. Oh. I’m in my bed at Bram’s house. Running a palm down my body, I realize I’m still fully dressed, but the cool air on my toes tells me someone took off my socks and shoes.

I push myself upright in small increments, careful not to jostle my head too much. I’m on top of the covers, and there’s a blanket bunched around my legs I don’trecognize. Bram must’ve draped it over me after I passed out.

Howembarrassing.

Twisting, I drag my legs over the edge of the bed in preparation to get up, but freeze when my gaze lands on my nightstand. There’s a glass of water resting there, and beside it are two aspirin with a small sticky note that has “Take me!” written on it. My lips tick up at the corners as I pick up Bram’s offering, toss the pills into my mouth, and chase them down with half of the water.

Embarrassing or not, it feels good to have someone take care of me. Especially since that “someone” is the man I can’t stop fantasizing about.

And is that…bacon I smell? My stomach grumbles in response, and I realize I’m starving. I need to get up and get moving.

After I drink a little more water, I force myself to stand. I wobble a little as fresh pain explodes in my skull, but once it recedes back into a steady, constant throbbing, I move slowly toward the closet to find something clean to wear. Pulling out a pair of joggers and a matching cropped hoodie, I find a pair of clean underwear and a bra before heading toward the bathroom.

Leaving the water as hot as I can stand it, I let the steam of the shower soothe my tired muscles for a few minutes before I start washing my hair. It’s a slow process, but eventually, every inch of me is cleaned, shaved, and rinsed. Turning off the water, I wrap a towel around my hair before drying off and getting dressed. After squeezing the excess water out, I wrap my damp hair into a tight bun with a hair tie.When I’m done with that, I brush my teeth, swipe on some deodorant, and spritz on a cloud of body spray.

That’s it. This is as good as it gets this morning.

Padding out of my room on bare feet, I make my way to the kitchen. My head is still pounding, but I forget the pain as soon as I round the corner and see Bram. My heart stops, then pumps back to life at a too-rapid pace as my eyes take him in.

He’s standing in front of the stove, holding the handle of a frying pan in one hand and a spatula in the other as he flips a large pancake up into the air and catches it in the pan. I can smell the bacon even stronger in here, and my mouth starts to water.

Yeah. It’s the bacon. It has nothing to do with the fact that the man of my dreams is standing in the kitchen in nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants, revealing his wide, muscled,barechest as he performs domestic duties and whistles a jaunty tune.

It’s every woman’s wet dream come to life right before my very eyes.

I clear my throat as the excess saliva pooling in my mouth threatens to choke me, and Bram looks over with a surprised expression.

“Oh, hey. You’re up,” he says, his gaze moving down my body before zipping back up to meet mine.

I know the feeling, buddy.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you you’re not supposed to fry bacon shirtless?” I ask, opting for a little levity so I don’t drop to my knees and beg him to take me right here, right now.

“Bacon’s in the oven, actually,” he says with a smirk. “No popping grease to worry about, here.”

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