Chapter 6
chapter six
MARISOL
My eyes jolt open at the sound of a frypan crackling.
As I blink furiously, fighting away the light pinging through the blinds, I realize I don’t recognize these four walls.
Nor the dark gray linen my legs slide between, or the lamp sitting atop the oak bedside table.
The only thing I recognize is my phone, sitting next to a glass of water and a couple of white capsules.
I let out a breath as I rub my eyes, my knuckles coming away with last night’s mascara smudged across them.
Great.
I pick up my phone, and the screen is filled with texts from Sabrina.
I hope you’re okay.
Let me know when you get back safe, and where to pick you up tomorrow.
Text me when you can.
God I hope you’re not in the hospital.
I’m so sorry I left you alone with that guy, I should have known better.
My mind winds through what I remember of last night. Am I in that guy’s house? Did I go home with someone random, and I don’t even remember it? How much did I have to drink?
Worry spears through me with a side of embarrassment. I’ve never woken up not knowing what happened the night before. Things have been a little hazy, sure, but I’ve never blanked like this before.
More sounds come from the other side of the bedroom door, and I can’t help the way my stomach twists with unease. What kind of situation have I gotten myself into?
When I look to the other side of the bed, it’s made. So, unless I went home with a next-level neat freak, I don’t think anyone else slept in this bed last night, which seems odd.
Looking around the walls, I don’t see any pictures. No photo frames or Polaroids from a college party. No indication at all as to whose bed I’m in.
The thought makes me nauseous, so I quietly slip out of bed, collecting my purse and shoes from the floor, and take a generous sip of the water before I reach for the door handle.
I press it down as slowly as I can. Maybe I can sneak out before whoever lives here notices. I’ll call Sabrina from the sidewalk.
But when I pull on the door, it creaks. Enough to have the man standing in gray sweatpants and a black muscle tank turning in my direction. And when I catch a look at the dark styled hair and blue eyes, the tension falls from my shoulders—but not entirely.
“Leo?” I’m at Leo’s house?
“Morning, sleepyhead,” he says, his signature smirk picking at the corner of his mouth as he holds a pan full of bacon.
Relief isn’t a sensation I have felt in a long time—with so many things in my life going wrong—but it is overwhelming in this moment. But wait…I didn’t sleep with him, did I?
Leo chuckles quietly as he watches me study his apartment, my eyes roaming over the deep blue walls and big windows that overlook the city center. Don’t know what kind of place I expected Leo to live in, but I’m not sure it was this.
When my eyes find his form again, he’s tipping his head to one side, stretching and letting me see the strong column from his jaw down to his shoulder.
My gaze wanders down to his bicep, and I find myself wondering if I’ve ever really looked at his arms before.
I mustn’t have, because if I did, I would’ve remembered they look like that. “You hungry?”
“Starving,” I say, clearing my throat—and my mind—before I drop my purse and shoes where I stand and stride over to the kitchen bench, pulling out a stool. My mind still feels foggy, like I’m stuck in a dream I haven’t fully woken up from.
“Why do you have nothing at all of yours in that room?” I ask, distracting myself with conversation even as my eyes continue to peruse his stature without my brain’s approval, not able to unsee how toned he is. When exactly did he get like that?
I shake my head. “I thought I had gone home with some random guy. At least hang a picture or something.” I find myself rubbing my eyes once more, a headache vying for my attention behind them. But I refuse to give the pounding any heed. If I don’t think about it, it’ll disappear.
The easiness in Leo’s stance disappears as his smirk falls away. He puts the pan down. “You don’t remember anything about last night?”
His change in demeanor sets alarm bells off in a distant part of my mind.
I could count on one hand the number of times Leo has been this serious around me.
He’s all jokes and flirty comments, always the one to pull a laugh from someone.
So why is he looking at me like that? Fuck. Did I sleep with him?
“I remember drinking with Sabrina at the bar, and I remember making it to La Sirena, but…” That’s where my recollection ends.
Why did Sabrina think I could be at the hospital?
Leo’s teeth find his bottom lip as he looks down, serving the bacon onto two plates. Usually, I stay away from bacon, but in my current state, all I want is to pull that plate toward me. But I don’t. All I can do is stare at Leo as he avoids my gaze.
“Leo, what happened?” I ask. “How did I get here?”
He’s quiet for so long that it becomes uncomfortable. I shift in my chair, wondering if there’s any way he didn’t hear my question.
“I came and got you,” he says finally, his eyes fixed on the food as he grinds pepper over the eggs he just slid onto the speckled plates.
“You came and got me?” I ask. When he doesn’t look up, I reach across the counter and pull the plates away from him. Those blue eyes meet mine, and I can’t read what’s written in them. “Why?”
“Because you called me.”
Why would I call him? Did Sabrina put me up to it after a few too many drinks? That embarrassment from earlier kicks up a notch. So I didn’t sleep with him, just drunk dialed him.
As I sit, wondering about all the trouble my best friend could’ve potentially dragged me into, he says, “I think you might have been drugged.”
Everything seems to fade away, everything other than the look of concern in Leo’s eyes as he watches me, and the sound of my heart beating. It’s not racing, it’s just loud.
A laugh bubbles out of my throat. “Why would you think that?” He’s quiet once more. “Leo.” My change in tone even surprises me. My heart begins to race as I try to recall anything from last night, but I can’t. I don’t remember anything after we went to La Sirena. My stomach drops.
Leo pushes away from the counter, leaving his arms stretched out in front of him.
I force my eyes to look at his head hung between his shoulders.
He looks up. “You thought something was wrong…when you called me,” he says.
“You asked me to come and get you because something wasn’t right.
And once I got there, you weren’t well at all. ”
I note his choice of words. Leo has never been the kind of man not to say something straight, but he’s picking his words carefully.
I try to imagine it, me completely incoherent, calling him, asking for his help.
Stress bubbles up in my throat. What happened to me that I felt like I needed his help?
Heat builds behind my eyes, and I don’t know why.
“I met your friend Sabrina,” he adds. “Don’t think I made a great first impression.”
I can’t help the way my ears lift as I try to blink away the tears. “What did you do, Leonardo?”
His jaw tenses at the nickname he’s hated since the day I first uttered it when we were teenagers. “I might have implied it was her fault that you got hurt.”
“I’m not hurt, Leo.” At least I don’t think I am.
“You don’t know that. I—” He sighs. “Neither of us knows what happened, Marisol.” The worry in his eyes has me leaning across the counter to lay my hand over his.
His gaze jumps to where our skin connects.
He’s right. I don’t know what happened last night, and that scares me more with every second I spend thinking about it. But it seems to scare Leo more.
“Sabrina said you were with a guy, but when I arrived, there was no guy anywhere. I’m so sorry, Marisol, I—”
“Leo,” I say, and he meets my gaze once more. “I’m okay. I’m here, and I’m safe now…because of you.” I called him. I don’t know why I called him. But maybe it’s because of the way I knew, somewhere in the back of my foggy mind, he would protect me. He always has.
There’s a look in his eyes now. One that says he would have done anything to find me last night. A fight burns in his eyes even as I try to reassure him. Maybe reassure myself, too.
Just when he lets out a breath, when I think he might say something, my phone rings in my pocket. The theme song to Charlie’s Angels plays in the silence of Leo’s apartment.
“Sorry,” I say, pulling it from my pocket. “That’s my agent.”
His face is somewhere between puzzled and amused as he watches me take the call. “Hey, Eva.”
“Marisol,” she says, her voice buoyant with energy. “Can we meet?”
“Today?” I ask.
“Now,” she responds.
“Uhh.” I stand, walking over to the doorway where I dropped my stuff. “Okay. Why so urgent?”
“I’ll tell you when you get here,” she says. “Meet me at the café. I’ll see you soon.” And then she hangs up.
“What’s wrong?” Leo asks as I pick up my shit off his floor.
“I’m not sure,” I say, slinging my bag over my shoulder. “But my agent wants to meet now.”
“Like right now?”
“Like right now,” I repeat.
He sighs dramatically. “I guess I’ll have to eat breakfast for the both of us then.”
A smile pulls at my lips as I head in his direction, picking up a small piece of bacon for the road. “I’m sure you can handle it.”
“Be careful,” he adds, and my stomach sinks even further as I shut the door.
* * *
The bell rings above my head as I open the door to the corner café that has become mine and Eva’s regular meeting spot.
She told me the first day I signed with her that she hates her office, that it feels too formal. So now we talk about my failures over a bangin’ cup of coffee.
“You’re here,” she says, standing up from her place by the window as I head toward her.