A VERY hungover Payton.
I groaned again, audibly this time, but quickly clamped my lips shut in the hopes Mr. Not-So-Charming stayed put for now. I needed a plan of action. Scanning the room, I tried to find something, anything to help me out of my alcohol-induced predicament.
TV? Well, I certainly couldn’t throw that at him… I couldn’t even lift the damn thing.
Lamp? No. No, not happening. That was a housewarming gift from my friend Quinn.
Dresser mirror? No, I needed that.
I rolled my eyes.
Turning my head to my bedside cabinet, I noticed my cell.
Score !
Like the stealth ninja I am, I grabbed my cell and gently pulled my arm out from under the sleeping man before slowly making my way off the bed, padding across the carpeted floor to the en-suite bathroom just a couple of feet away. When I was sure I was safe and clear, I quietly clicked the door shut and sighed heavily; mentally, I totally fist pumped my awesome skills as an expert ninja. With a press of a button and a slide of a finger, I pulled up my contacts and search for Quinn’s cell number. He’d know what to do.
Pressing call, I placed my cell between my ear and shoulder as I sit down on the toilet to pee.
“If you’re calling to tell me that your neighbor’s damn cat has caught a mouse again, I’m hanging up.”
I rolled my eyes, ignoring his comment about the mouse incident with my neighbor’s cat, Fluffy.
“We’re at DEFCON 1,” I whispered.
I heard Quinn gasp dramatically, followed by an over enthusiastic squeal and what sounded like him jumping up and down.
“Oh. My. God. I’ll be ten minutes!” he shrieked into the phone.
“Wai—”
I pulled the phone away from my ear. He freaking cut me off!
I groaned as I finished on the toilet, pulling my hand back as I tried and flush it. I couldn’t. It’d wake Sleeping Beauty, and I wasn’t ready for that just yet. Turning to the mirror, I quickly wiped under my eyes, noticing the black mascara transfer onto my fingers. Oh classy. Not only had I picked up a random stranger at a bar with the worst tattoo ever, I also had panda eyes. My hair looked like a bird’s nest too.
I was a walking zoo.
After removing as much of last night’s makeup as I could, I opened the bathroom door and slowly tip-toed back to the bed. Sliding in quietly next to the heap of man who hadn’t yet moved, I wondered when the hell Quinn would get here.
Then, I gagged.
He, my snoring stranger, farted.
Oh, kill me now.
Holding my breath, I placed my cell back on my bedside cabinet and waited, hoping Quinn realized the magnitude of DEFCON 1. Minutes rolled by as I stared up at my whitewashed ceiling, trying my hardest to stay silent as to not wake my unassuming bed partner.
Why did I get myself into these predicaments? I mean, seriously, I’m twenty-five and I’m still yet to settle down and get married, pop out two-point-five kids and live in a house with a white picket fence. Ahh, the American dream. You know the one, where the husband is bending over his secretary and the kids are pushing the mother to drink while the paint on the fence flakes off with every martini the mother ingests? Yeah, it sounded more like a nightmare than THE DREAM to me.
A couple long minutes ticked by before I heard the click of the lock from my apartment door. Thank freaking Christ.
Show time.
Closing my eyes, I bit back the sadistic smile playing at my lips and waited for the commotion to start. My ears pricked as I heard heavy footsteps against the hardwood flooring of my living room, softly evening out as the steps faded into my carpeted bedroom.
Then I waited.
And it came, right on cue.
“What the fuck is this?” Quinn’s voice boomed from beside me.
I wanted to laugh, I wanted to laugh so hard even in my compromised state, but I couldn’t. I needed to stay focused and in character. I dramatically jolted awake, flailing my arms and legs around so hard I hit Mr. Not-So-Charming once in the jaw and twice in groin for good measure.
It was acting, I swear.
“Quinn! What, what are you doing home?” I stuttered, pulling the sheets over my exposed chest while a no longer sleeping male jumped from the bed beside me. “This isn’t what it looks like!”
I bit my lip as I noticed just how seriously Quinn had taken my DEFCON 1 comment as a baseball bat dangled loosely by his side in his right hand. My gaze then latched onto my bed partner, who was now frantically glancing around the room for some form of clothing while trying to hide his junk under both hands.
I doubted he needed both hands, but hey, who am I to judge?
“This isn’t what it looks like, man. I swear,” Mr. Not-So-Charming implored, finding a pair of jeans and throwing his legs inside, not noticing he had them on backwards. “I don’t even remember.”