13. Arabella
13
Arabella
M y head hurts. I want to throw up and I have to pee. But I’m so comfortable, I can’t bring myself to move. I can feel the sunlight coming in through the window and warming my skin in the most delightful way. Then it hits me. I don’t get direct morning sunlight through my bedroom window, because my apartment is on the west side of the building, not the east. Shit.
Sitting bolt upright in the bed, my eyes fly open to confirm I’m not in my room, but I am alone. Where the fuck am I? I pull the covers off and look down to see I’m wearing what looks like an old, faded Aerosmith t-shirt, but it’s not mine. Nice choice. I’m not wearing a bra, but my panties are in place and intact. Thank god. Fuck my head hurts. How much did I drink last night?
My eyes roam around the larger than average bedroom. This appears to be a nice place. I figured he had money, but didn’t expect– this . Pulling my knees to my chest, I lean forward and bury my face. If Brad’s not in here with me, that means he’s awake and out there . How could I have fucked this up? I know the rules. Rule 1–Get out the door before they even think about waking up.
Okay. So maybe there’s really only one rule.
“I hate awkward morning-after interactions,” I groan to myself.
I need to find the bathroom so I can get out of here. With any luck, I’m wrong and he’s not actually here and my escape will be easy. Stepping into the hallway, I see a bathroom across the hall and tip toe over, so I can empty my overfull bladder before it explodes.
I’m mid-stream when I smell the most delicious scent.
Bacon.
I’m not sure if a nose can actually smell texture, but I bet it smells crispy. Crispy bacon is my kryptonite. My stomach is still doing somersaults, but I’d risk it all for that delicious pork breakfast delicacy. Although, this confirms that I am most definitely not alone.
Oh, god.
This means I can't avoid the awkward morning after convo, which is always equal parts polite and uncomfortable. It’s exactly why I have a strict rule to get out before he wakes up.
Once my bladder is sufficiently emptied and I’ve found toothpaste to finger brush my teeth with, I wander in the direction of the delicious smell.
I turn the corner to see an open style living space in mostly black and gray tones, simple and clean. On the other side of the living space is a large island with a marble countertop, beyond which I see a shirtless back.
That – is not Brad.
From here, his skin looks smooth in some places but ripped and muscular in others. Inching forward, I see he’s only wearing gray sweatpants that clearly enhance his round, taut ass. The urge to lick him all over overwhelms me. His jet black hair is tousled and sprinkled with the occasional gray. Shit. Who is this guy and what the fuck did I do last night?
“Are you hungry?” he asks, right as panic starts to set in.
Wait–I know that voice.
“You should probably eat something, even if you aren’t.” He adds the bacon to a plate that already has scrambled eggs on it, turning and placing it on the island in front of me before our eyes lock. Holy fucking shit.
“What the fuck,” I yell, jumping back and pulling at the hem of the shirt to cover my ass. “Ryker!” This cannot be happening. I’m so confused.
How did I go from douchebag Brad to my mom’s ex? Ryker has to be at least twenty years my senior. It’s not that he’s unattractive, he’s practically a god in human form. If he were anyone else, I’d take any opportunity to climb him like a tree. Great, now I’m thinking about doing naked things with him.
Focus Arabella , get your shit together.
“Arabella, take a breath and calm down. Nothing happened, at least not between you and I. You called me last night from the bathroom at Lorenzo’s.” I don't miss that his face is scrunched up like he's worried. “We suspect you were drugged. Likely Rohypnol.”
“The date rape drug?” I question, staring blankly at him. “Wait–who is we? ”
“Yes, the date rape drug. And we would be Miranda and I. She’s a doctor and a friend of mine. She came over and checked you out last night. Said it could've been much worse. Looks like you didn't ingest enough to do any real damage and you'd feel better by morning after sleeping it off. Also said some of your memories from last night could be fuzzy. Do you remember anything?”
My heart starts to pound as I stare at him blankly, trying to piece the evening together. “I don’t know,” I whisper. “It’s all so sparse. When I woke up this morning, I just assumed I drank too much and passed out. Did we–?”
He stares at me with a furrowed brow, before saying, “I feel like we should revisit that some other time, because… wow. And, no. Nothing happened–at least not with me. You’re beautiful, but aside from the fact that I don’t engage in sexual acts with drunk women, I’m old enough to be your father.”
Did he just call me beautiful? I don’t think anyone has ever called me that. My mom spent all my life telling me I’d be so pretty if I’d lose weight . So much so, that one day I started believing her. It’s probably why I err on the side of comfy, baggy clothes and despite being pretty open minded, sexually, I’d take lights off versus lights on if given the choice. Thankfully, being a one and done kind of gal allows me to care less about what they think of me. It’s easy when you know you’ll never see them again.
“I know it’s hard, but I need you to try and remember what happened.” Stepping around the island, he pulls out a barstool and guides me to sit. “Do you remember Brad? You were with him last night. ”
I nod and close my eyes tightly, trying to recall the missing pieces. “We had a date. He came over and then we went to Lorenzo’s.”
We sit there, in silence, for so long that when Ryker places a hand on my shoulder, a shock jolts through my body, causing me to jump out of my seat. Nearly falling on my ass as it comes rushing back to me. Every last detail.
“We were eating and he got really pushy with the wine, which I don’t even like, by the way. I started feeling strange, so I went to the bathroom while he was away from the table. I think I hid from him in there.” It comes out in a hushed tone and I internally cringe at the memory.
“Do you remember calling me?”
I do remember.
“I didn’t know who else to call. When you were still with mom, you told me I could call if I needed help and then proceeded to force your number on me. I never deleted it. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I meant it back then, and nothing changed when your mom and I broke up. I’m glad you called. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about you, though.” There’s that scrunched up brow again. “I brought you here, because I sent a cop friend of mine to the restaurant after we left and Brad was gone. They're looking for him, but it's not safe for you until they find him. Especially with him knowing where you live.”
“Thank you for saving me,” I say quietly before swallowing all the spit that’s formed in my mouth from just being near this man.
“There’s nothing to thank me for. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
“Shit, where are my clothes?”
Thank god I snapped out of that trance real quick. My nipples were starting to tighten, like homing beacons searching for a hot older man. That was close, because they almost found one and I don’t need the added embarrassment of him knowing the effect he has on my body.
“I wanted you to be as comfortable as possible while you were resting, so I put you in one of my old band t-shirts. I promise I was as respectful as possible. You’re just going to have to trust me on that.” I nod, but it doesn’t stop my cheeks from heating with embarrassment, knowing he saw me like that.
I do trust him. It’s why I called in the first place. When I ran into him at Gravity, I was drunk, which of course caused my pissy mood at his over the top, protective, daddy adjacent attitude. I wanted to punch him in his sexy face for having the audacity to try and tell me what to do. When he was with mom, despite only for a fairly short time, he seemed to legitimately care and was the only one who ever stood up for me when she was being an asshole. But he lost the right to have any say about what I do with my life, the moment he left.
“I should get my stuff together and go. I’m sorry again for calling you,” I say, heading back to the room I woke up in.
“Stop,” he orders and I slowly turn back. “You haven’t eaten anything. You’ll sit and eat a proper meal and then we’ll discuss what happens next.”
“Have you always been this bossy? You’re lucky I’m actually hungry,” I tease, with a complimentary eye roll.
Pulling out the barstool, I hop up and pull the plate closer. It really does smell amazing. I don’t remember the last time I had a homemade meal. I try to eat healthier when I can, but I’m generally too busy or too tired to cook, meaning most meals fall in the fast category.
“You have no idea how bossy I can actually be, little girl. This is nothing,” he assures me with an actual smirk plastered on his gorgeous fucking face.
“This bacon smells delicious, but I’m going to pass. The last thing I need is to consume this much saturated fat, it will literally attach itself to my ass and that is fat enough as it is.”
I can feel his eyes burning into me for far too long while I devour the fluffy scrambled eggs when he finally speaks again. “Don’t give me that body shaming shit. You’re perfect the way you are now be a good girl and eat all of it. Your body has been through a lot, and you need the energy.”
A flutter builds low in my belly and my thighs clench at his commanding tone. Do not think naked thoughts about mom’s ex. Do not think naked thoughts about mom’s ex. I allow the mantra to replay in my head, hoping I can make it be true.