CHAPTER 2

TRENT

I can’t do this. I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. Except, that’s the problem isn’t it? I wasn’t. All I know is I was fucking sad, and the only way to numb the pain is at the bottom of a bottle.

That’s how I ended up here, in this cheap dive bar, filled to the brim with way too many people. The loud music blares through the speakers, causing me to pick up the glass again.

The resounding thud of the drums matches the rhythm of my heart. Just another drink, and I can calm down. Just another drink and I can go to Mitch’s and sleep this off, and get on track to being good for Kian again.

The bartender slides another glass over to me and tips her head, pity and something else in her gaze. “You need this,” she says.

Water.

I probably do need it, but like the asshole I am I refuse to let people help me. “What I need is another drink.”

She shakes her head, her high ponytail swaying with the movement.

Fuck.

I’m terrible. Awful.

It would be better for everyone if I just didn’t exist.

That thought leads me to tipping the whole cup of alcohol back and swallowing it in one swig. The liquid burns going down my throat before settling into a warm fuzzy feeling in the bottom of my belly.

That’s better.

The self deprecating thoughts leave my mind the longer I sit on this barstool. My limbs become light and flowy.

I’m not here, in this shitty dive bar drinking away my problems. I’m on a cloud, watching millions of people pass under me and live their lives.

My phone buzzes in the pocket of my jeans. I know who it is. I know why he’s calling, but I don’t answer. I want to live in this happy bubble for a while longer before I have to look Kian in the face and tell him I never showed up at Mitch’s.

Mitch is a great guy. He’s the best, and he’s someone Kian and I have come to rely on. To look him in the eye and tell him all my secrets and shortcomings sounds like my worst nightmare. So instead, I’m drowning my sorrows and I’ll go there tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

Flickers of blond hair and blue eyes and hands that are too rough assault my dreams. Want. Need. Lust.

Hands all over me, touching me in only a way one other person has. Pressure. Pleasure. Darkness.

???

Ugh. My head hurts. My mouth feels like sandpaper, and the horrible taste tells me that I threw up.

The bed underneath me is soft, but it smells of cheap deodorant and body odor. The stench is horrible in my hungover state.

Whose bed am I in?

Cracking my eyes open proves to be a challenge, because the bright light peeking through the curtains is torture. I fight against the pain and sit up, letting the cotton blankets pool around my waist.

The bed next to me is empty, a blessing. I don’t want to think about what would have happened if someone else was lying beside me when I woke up.

Groaning, I get up. My naked body is exposed to the cool air blowing from the fan. Where the hell are my clothes?

“Oh good! You’re finally awake.” The southern twang comes from the open door to my left. A broad-shouldered, blond-haired man stands filling up the doorway, smiling down at me smugly. The smile makes me uneasy, like he knows something I don't.

I look down at my naked body and flush with embarrassment, quickly scrambling to cover myself with the blanket. “Yeah, I am. Do you know where my clothes are?”

He nods, and then tips his head to the side, his eyes checking out my naked torso. The uneasy feeling is stronger now, more pronounced. Whatever happened last night, I’m better off not knowing. “Let me grab them for you. Are you hungry? I’m making eggs.”

“No, thank you.”

What's the etiquette for someone letting a stranger sleep in their bed? Should I offer payment, maybe an IOU? I’ve never seen him before, so maybe he was just being kind to me because he could tell I was going through a rough time last night. Whatever the case, I'm glad I didn’t have to show up at Mitch’s wasted.

He comes back in, handing me my clothes, and I wait for him to turn away so I can get dressed. My phone is still in my pocket where I left it last night, and I don’t have to check it to know it’s dead. I’ll charge it after I get to Mitch’s.

“Well.” I huff out an awkward breath, running my fingers through my hair. “Thank you for letting me crash here last night. I owe you one.”

“No you don’t, we’re even. You sure you don’t want anything to eat?”

“Positive, but thank you. Again.''

He walks, and I follow until he leads me to a door. Pulling it open, he steps aside to let me pass by him. “The pleasure was all mine.”

The door slams shut, and I’m left alone on the porch of a stranger’s house wondering how badly I fucked up last night.

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