Chapter 9
NINE
CHARLOTTE
I wake up with a pounding headache and my back pressed against something solid and warm. I blink a few times, trying to wake myself up enough to figure out where I am.
Last night is a little blurry. I remember playing cards, but I don’t remember what happened after. I look down, finding a tan arm sprawled across my middle.
My eyes go wide, and my entire body stills as I realize where I am and, more importantly, who I’m with.
I slowly turn my head to look over my shoulder, my eyes immediately landing on a peacefully sleeping, shirtless Jude.
In his deep sleep, his long eyelashes rest against his sharp cheekbones.
His hand rests against my stomach, and even though my shirt provides a fabric barrier between his skin and mine, I swear I feel the heat of his hand through the shirt.
Speaking of shirts. I glance down, realizing that the shirt I’m wearing is not the one I showed up in last night. It’s looser and far softer. It’s Jude’s.
“Oh, fuck,” I whisper, immediately glancing over at Jude the moment the words accidentally slip from my mouth. Luckily, he stays fast asleep, giving me time to figure out what the hell happened last night.
Did we have sex? I gently lift the blanket that’s tucked around me, letting out a sigh of relief when I find out I’m at least still wearing my underwear.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to remember what happened last night.
I showed up at his house, we had a glass of wine. One drink turned into finishing off three bottles of wine. Or was it more? The throbbing pain between my eyes tells me that we might’ve had more.
Although it’s a little foggy, I remember playing cards with Jude.
I remember spilling the wine, and I swear I remember a moment with him that almost felt like…
more. I swear I remember our lips brushing against each other’s for a moment.
I swear I remember him looking at me in a way he’s never looked at me before.
But I had a lot of wine. I don’t know if my mind’s playing tricks on me.
Everything after us playing cards is a blur. I don’t know everything that happened.
I squeeze my eyes even tighter, as if that will force the memories of the rest of the night to appear.
What happened after we stopped playing the game?
I remember standing in Jude’s closet. Maybe that’s when I changed out of my shirt and ended up in his. But something gnaws at my memory. Something more. We were both in his closet, but I swear I remember an intense look in his eyes as he helped me out of my shirt and into his.
I open my eyes, knowing I have to be imagining things.
I look over my shoulder again, trying to remember what led us to cuddling on the couch. I close my eyes again, but for the life of me, I can’t remember.
I sigh, beginning to slowly slide off the couch. I need to find my phone and figure out what time it is. I have to work this morning, and it’s going to take me longer to get ready, thanks to this hangover.
I’m also going to have to go back to my place and get a clean uniform.
My home.
Reality hits me as I remember what even led me to show up at Jude’s house in the first place.
I need to find a new place to live.
I stifle a groan, wishing I hadn’t had the bright idea to forget the fact that I have nowhere to live this summer. If I hadn’t drunk so much, I wouldn’t have ended up cuddling with my guy best friend all night. I wouldn’t have woken up and immediately started panicking that we kissed last night.
My foot softly hits the ground as I try to inch myself off the couch even more. I don’t know if it’d be better to lift his arm off me or if I should continue slowly rolling away, allowing his arm to gently fall against the plush cushion of his couch.
I opt for the latter option, taking my time slowly rolling my body away from his until my other foot hits the ground and I’m no longer on the couch. I pause for a moment, watching him closely to make sure he stays asleep.
From what I can remember, he drank just as much as I did, maybe even more. All I can hope is that he’ll wake up with fuzzy memories like I did too. We’ll be able to pretend nothing happened, and things will never be awkward.
I rise to my feet, keeping my gaze locked on him.
Even after I rolled away from him, he hasn’t moved.
His sandy-brown hair falls over his forehead, and his lips part slightly in his sleep.
The sunlight from the living room window drifts in through an opening in the curtains, causing sunbeams to dance across his skin.
Once I’m sure that he isn’t waking up, I turn my attention to the living room.
I need to get my clothes—or at the very least, some sort of pants—and then I need to rush home and get to work.
The orange glow of the sunlight gives me hope that I have plenty of time to make it home, get myself together, and still arrive on time for my shift at the club today.
I spot my phone on the ground near the coffee table. I crouch down and grab it, relieved to find that I still have over an hour until I have to be at Pembroke.
My eyes scan the room as I try to decide if I should try and clean up or not. There’s a bottle of wine still on the table and our empty glasses right next to it. There are even empty plates from what was apparently a late-night snack that I don’t remember.
Jude makes a sound behind me, and my head immediately whips in his direction.
My stomach drops at the thought of facing him before I even get a grip on what did—or didn’t—happen last night.
I know I’ll have to see him again, and I’m sure things will be totally fine and not awkward at all, but I at least need to get rid of this hangover and attempt to regain my hazy memories from last night.
With his eyes still closed, Jude adjusts his body slightly on the couch but doesn’t wake up. I feel guilty for leaving the living room the way it is, but I start to tiptoe toward Jude’s room to find my pants.
My heart races the entire time I collect my things. I’m hoping that if I’m able to sneak out of here while he sleeps peacefully, by the time I see him again later today, or whenever, we can just pretend that we didn’t drink too much last night.
I tiptoe toward his front door, keeping a close eye on his sleeping form as I make my way outside.
I’m able to get out of the house and to my car without waking him up. The moment I get in my car, I finally let out a deep breath of relief.
I back out of his driveway and hope that I can find a way to get rid of this massive hangover before starting my shift.
The entire drive home, I try to force myself to remember if anything else happened between us last night, but I keep coming up empty.
I don’t think we crossed any lines. I can’t remember exactly though.
Things won’t be awkward at all the next time I see him.
Everything is fine.
So why, when I let my mind wander, do I almost wish that something did happen?
I’m not immune to Jude’s good looks and charm.
I am attracted to him, but I’m smart enough to know that a man like him doesn’t settle down.
He’d be a great one-night stand, and if he weren’t one of my best friends, I’d absolutely go for that.
But he is my friend, and I do care for him in a way that makes me not want to lose him.
I can’t let the fact that he’s good-looking and has the charm of any good playboy cloud my judgment.
I can’t cross a line with him that can’t be uncrossed.
Because of that, I can’t hope that something more did happen between us.
I can’t want more from him. He’s staying in the friend zone because I don’t have many friends out here in the Hamptons with Lucy gone as much as she is.
Because of that, Jude and I have grown close, and now… I don’t know what I’d do if I lost him.
We’re staying friends. Just friends. We’ll never be more than friends.
The problem is, even as I rush to pull myself together for work, I can’t stop picturing the desperate way he looked at me last night.
I know I was pretty tipsy, and I can’t trust my memories, but I swear he looked at me in a way that no one’s ever looked at me before.
It was in a way that screamed he didn’t want to just kiss me, and I don’t know what to do about the hazy recollection.
I’m still thinking about it as I park my car at Pembroke Hills. I know I have to be making it up. Jude wouldn’t look at me that way, and I need to stop fantasizing about him doing it. Nothing happened or almost happened last night.
He’s going to show up at the club later and act like his usual self. He’ll say something to annoy me, and we’ll be back to normal. I’ll be annoyed at myself for spending all morning worrying about it, and we’ll move on.
Nothing’s going to change at all.
At least, that’s what I keep telling myself as I work my shift at Pembroke.