Me neither, but I made this bed and now I’m forced to lie in it.
“You know what?” he announces. “Forget the weed. Only one thing is gonna make this piece-of-shit movie tolerable.”
“Yeah, what’s that?”
Rather than answer, he hops off the couch and disappears into the kitchen. Wary, I listen to the sounds of cupboards opening and closing, glasses clinking together, and then he’s back, holding a bottle in one hand and two shot glasses in the other.
Dean flashes a grin and says, “Tequila.”
3
Allie
Someone is pounding my head with a mallet. Like one of those comically huge mallets you see cartoon characters whacking each other with. It’s horrible. It’s loud.
Oh God. I’m so hung-over.
Even the barely audible groan that escapes my lips is enough to bring a shock of agony to my temples. And the act of shifting in bed evokes a wave of nausea that tightens my throat and makes my eyes water. I breathe through it. Inhale. Exhale. I just need to control the queasiness long enough to make it to the bathroom so I don’t hurl all over Garrett Graham’s clean sheets—
I’m not in Garrett’s bed.
The realization hits me at the same time I register the sound of breathing. Not the shallow, I-drank-too-much-tequila breaths that are leaving my throat, but the soft, even breathing of the guy beside me.
This time when I groan, it comes from deep in my soul.
The memories come crashing back in vivid Technicolor. The terrible movie. The tequila shots. The…rest.
I slept with Dean last night.
Twice.
My heart beats faster as I stare up at the ceiling. I’m in Dean’s room. There’s an empty condom wrapper on the end table. And…yep, I’m naked.
Maybe it was a bad dream, a voice in my head tries to assure me.
I draw another deep breath and find the courage to turn my head. What I encounter seizes my lungs again.
A very naked Dean is stretched out on his stomach. His bare ass taunts me, not just with its sheer perfection, but because of the red scratches on his tight butt cheeks.
My nails had left those scratches. I lift a weak hand and notice the fingernail on my index finger is broken. I broke a nail while clawing at Dean’s ass. That must have happened downstairs—I remember him being on top the first time on the couch. The purplish hickey on his left shoulder had happened up here, during our second round when I was on top.
“I want to see this mysterious bedroom of yours. I want to be the first one to christen it.”
My own words buzz around in my already-muddled brain. As it turned out, I’m not the first girl he’s brought up to his room. He’d told me so himself. And that wasn’t all he’d revealed. Yep, I am now in possession of the nugget of knowledge Hannah has been trying to get her hands on for more than a year—why Dean prefers to screw everywhere but his bedroom.
Unfortunately, the knowledge doesn’t end there. I know what Dean looks like naked. I know how it feels to have him thrusting inside me. I know the sounds he makes when he’s coming.
I know too much.
My head pounds harder.
Fuck.
Fuckity fuck fuck fuck.
What the hell have I done? I’ve never had casual sex before. My sex roster features a total of three guys—two in high school, one in college, and all of them were my serious boyfriends.
My gaze strays back to Dean’s long, muscular body. Why did I let this happen? I can handle my liquor just fine. I wasn’t blackout drunk last night. I wasn’t slurring or stumbling or acting like an idiot. I knew exactly what I was doing when I made the first move and kissed Dean.
I made the first move.
What is the matter with me?
Okay. Okay. Not the end of the world. I massage my screaming temples with the pads of my fingers and force myself to ignore the sleeping man beside me. It’s fine. It was just a one-night stand. Nobody died. I might regret it—desperately—but regrets are for sissies, as my dad likes to say. Learn from your mistakes and move on.
That’s what I need to do. Move on. No, just move. As in, sneak out of this bed, take a long shower, and pretend that last night never happened.
Armed with a plan, I gingerly slide out from under the sheet that’s haphazardly thrown over my lower body. The mattress squeaks and I freeze, my panicky gaze darting toward Dean.
He’s still dead to the world.
Okay. I take another breath and ease my legs over the side of the bed. When my feet hit the floor, Dean stirs. He releases a half-moan, half-breath. Then he rolls over and oh my God, I can see his dick.
Heat floods my cheeks as I stare at his package. Even flaccid, it’s impressive. He was right—he does have a great cock.
And unless my memory is failing me, I believe I vocally praised the glory of that cock many, many times last night.
My face grows hotter as I remember everything I’d said to him. Everything I’d done to him.
A silent groan rises in my throat. All right, enough reminiscing. I need to get the hell out of this bedroom. No, first I need to find my phone.
I scan the room until I spot Dean’s sweatpants. He’d slipped them on after our romp on the couch, and I’m pretty sure my phone is in his pocket.
My own clothes are nowhere to be found—last I saw them, they were in a pile on the living room floor. Which only brings more panic, because that means Tucker must have seen them when he got home last night. Shit. And he had to have heard us, because God knows I wasn’t using my indoor voice when Dean’s tongue was between my—
Nope, not thinking about it.
I fish around in his pockets for my phone. Yes. It’s here. Thank God.
I type in my passcode. Guilt slams into me from all directions when I see the unread messages from Sean.
God. If he only knew what I’d been doing when he was sending me all these heartfelt text messages. Not that I owe him any explanations. We’re broken up. We’re going to stay broken up. But I still feel awful knowing I slept with someone else while Sean was at home, desperately trying to win me back.
Not just any guy, either. I slept with Dean. Dean, the guy who was about to have a threesome before I showed up. Dean, the guy who fucks anyone with a pulse. Dean, the guy who—
“Hand it over, baby doll.”
His voice startles a squeak out of me. My head swivels toward the bed, where Dean is sliding up into a sitting position, running one hand through his sleep-messy hair. He doesn’t look or sound groggy at all. His green eyes are alert, and his naked body is…transforming.
I feel myself blushing at the sight of his quickly hardening dick, so I drop my gaze to my bare feet. “Would you please cover yourself up?”
“That’s not what you said last night…”
His mocking tone grates. “We are not discussing last night. Ever.”
He looks even more amused. “Oh, relax. It was just sex.” He makes no move to pull the sheet over his lower body. Instead, he stretches both arms high over his head, drawing my attention to his flexing muscles. And his wrists. He has red marks around his wrists…
Because I tied him to the bed last night.
Sweet mother of Moses.
When he catches where my gaze has gone, the corners of his mouth quirk up. “Granted, it was a lot kinkier than I thought it would be,” he continues with a wink. “But I ain’t complaining.”
Kill me. Just kill me.
As another rush of humiliation crashes over me, I grab the nearest item of clothing I can find—a black V-neck T-shirt—and throw it over my head. A familiar smell clouds my senses. Something spicy and masculine. It’s the same scent I breathed in last night when my lips were traveling over Dean’s bare chest. When my face was buried in his neck as I sucked on his skin like it was candy. And yep, there’s another hickey on his throat. I really went to town on this guy.
“We are not talking about it,” I say through clenched teeth. “It happened, it was fine, and it will never be mentioned again.”
“It was fine?” Smirking, Dean drags a hand down his chest, his long fingers resting right above the head of his thick erection. “It was more than fine and you know it.”
“Would you please, please get dressed?” I beg.
“Can’t. You’re wearing my shirt.” He arches a brow. “Why don’t you take it off and toss it this way?”
Fat chance. This guy is never laying eyes on my naked body again.
Since I refuse to give up the shirt, I do the next best thing and turn my back to him to go through my phone. I ignore Sean’s texts and skip to the ones from my friends. One from Hannah checking how my night was, and one from Megan asking me to brunch.
I quickly text Meg back with a resounding YES and ask her to pick me up from Garrett’s. Just as the gray bubble that indicates she’s typing a response appears, the phone is snatched from my hand.
“Hey!” I’m startled to find Dean behind me. Jeez. The guy moves like a ninja.
“I’m in charge of this, remember?” He’s mocking me again, keeping the phone out of my reach. “As your sponsor, I must advise you to ignore—” he glances at the screen “these nine text messages from your ex. No good will come out of reading them.”
He’s right about that. But after what happened between us last night, there’s no way Dean is going to be my relationship sponsor.
“It’s fine,” I mumble. “I don’t need your help.”