This was not how I’d imagined the morning after with him going.
If I had imagined it, that is. Okay, fine, but I hadn’t imagined it actually happening. That’s why they call them fantasies.
Careful not to let in more light than necessary, I snuck a peek over in his direction. He was sprawled out on his back, an arm tossed over his eyes. Scruff layered his jaw, and despite his skin having a slightly gray tint, he had the audacity to still be as attractive as ever.
And here I was feeling (and probably looking) like I’d been squeegee’d through a printing press, clutching my breasts like I’d thought they were going someplace.
I swallowed a groan and made something up. “Self-exams are integral to preventing breast cancer.”
“Self-exams. Right.” The sound he made was half chuckle, half sigh, and all judgment.
“So I’m not correct in assuming that self-examination is also why you keep the lotion/tissue combo over here as well?”
Dead silence from his side.
Yeah. Exactly. See if he’ll have the nerve to wake up looking that sexy again.
Especially after a night like that.
Though, I still wasn’t sure exactly what all the night had entailed. There were holes in my memory. My body didn’t feel like it had...and believe me, I’d know. I mean, I was about as immaculate as Mary. It would be pretty obvious if the eagle had landed, so to speak, and the nest was definitely empty.
I stole another glance in his direction. The sheet was wrapped around his waist revealing his bare chest. And wowzers, that chest was perfection. The lines and ridges were sketched with such detail, I wanted to draw them. Wanted to trace across them with my pen. Was it uncouth to fingerpaint on your roommate? With your tongue?
Lower, a fine trail of light brown hair dusted along his abs and disappeared underneath the sheet confirming the state of his undress.
If I’d gotten any part of that last night, it was more than a damn shame that I didn’t remember. I racked my brain for any recollection to grab onto––a kiss, a grope––but my head was having trouble putting forth any effort at all.
So I sucked up my pride––who was I kidding? Pride had long ago left the building––and started the conversation that was bound to occur sooner or later. “About last night...”
“That’s not normal,” he cut me off.
“Yeah?” I asked. My hands were still on my girls, for fuck’s sake. Who’s to say what was normal?
More importantly, this was an interesting development. Or un-development, so to say.
“Nope,” he said, moving his arm so he could look me in the eye. “That was the bourbon.”
“Fair enough.” Though, I’d had bourbon too, and even though I had no memory of it, I was certain that I’d been able to keep up my part in the game of bedroom Twister. So was he really saying it was the alcohol? Or was he suggesting it was the partner who’d brought the alcohol? I knew we hadn’t had sex. But did he know that?
I sat up, tugging the sheet with me to cover my chest with something beyond my palms. “It’s just never happened before. Not to me.”
His eyes narrowed. “You need a larger sample size before you get to make broad statements like that.”
Oh, right. I’d told him about my scanty romantic history, too. That was a blank I didn’t need to have filled in.
I twisted my lip while I tried to think with an appropriate comeback.
Marc evidently didn’t see any need to wait around while I did. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I’ll, uh, be right back,” he mumbled before standing and showcasing the firmest ass I’d had the pleasure of seeing. Like, ever. Like, not once in my daydreams. Like, not even in my occasional slip into the Tumblr rabbit hole had I seen such deliciousness.
Thank god the bathroom was on his side of the bed, and he couldn’t see the way I stared after him until the door was shut behind him.
Then I threw my head back against the headboard. What had we done?
Perhaps more appropriate––what had we not done?
Seriously, the humiliation was worse with the confirmation that Marc hadn’t even been able to perform. Worse for him, yes, but also worse for me. Because a man who looked like that could be forgiven for any amount of bedroom mishaps. A nerdy little undersexed artist like myself? Yeah, I’d never live this down even if I were the only one who ever gave me shit about it.
I brought my fingers up to rub across my swollen lips. These at least had seen some action. My heart did a little flip-flop at the thought of kissing Marc Kirby. How had that been? How had he tasted? Bourbon-flavored, I’d guess, but what else? Did he kiss softly and tentatively? Or was he as aggressive as I wanted to imagine he’d been?
And wasn’t this fucking typical. I’d actually kissed the hot guy for once, and I still didn’t know the answers. Big fat chance that I’d get another opportunity like that again.
I rolled over so I could scream into his pillow. God, it smelled like him. A mixture of woodsy scents and mint.
The bathroom door opened, and I scrambled to gather the sheet around me so I could take my own turn without exposing any more of my body than necessary.
“Excuse me,” I said, averting my eyes as I brushed past him. He still was buck naked, and it didn’t seem appropriate to stare while he was facing me.
Though, I really was curious about what he was packing up front. Just, not quite brave enough to peek.
With the door shut, I leaned over the bathroom sink and waited for my stomach to settle from getting up too fast while hungover. One look in the mirror confirmed all I’d suspected about my appearance. My normally pale skin was actually ashen, my brown and purple-tipped hair was tangled in knots, and there was a deep red crease along the top of my cheek from where my glasses had pressed against my face in my sleep.
Super attractive. Obviously.
I straightened my specs, then turned on the sink and cupped my hands so I could hydrate. Finding some mouthwash on the counter, I tossed some back and swished it around while I ran my fingers through the rat’s nest on top of my head. By the time I was ready to spit, I realized the endeavor was hopeless. And pointless. Marc had already seen me at my worst. It wasn’t like I was going to be able to fix that impression with anything I did now.
One hand clutching the sheet, I put my other on the door handle and paused. Something in the mirror had caught my eye. I turned to look at the bathtub where the reflection was coming from and sure enough, there was a container of fru-fru bubble bath next to an empty wine cooler.
Shit.
The girlfriend.
I’d forgotten Marc had a fucking girlfriend.
Cursing under my breath, I grabbed the bubble bath and opened the door. “Cucumber Rose, Marc?”
He looked up from where he was perched on the bed, his cheeks reddening. “You looked in my bathtub?”