9. Ashlie
CHAPTER NINE
ASHLIE
G roaning, I shield my eyes from the sunbeams assaulting me through the blinds. I swipe my tongue around my teeth to work the stale taste out of my mouth. The bitter film makes me gag, but I stay horizontal while looking for water, hoping to appease the headache gods. I reach for the bottle on my nightstand and chug, which does nothing to ease the pounding haze. Everything after seeing Marcus last night is a little fuzzy. Taking another drink, I walk myself through the timeline of events. Marcus, skimpy blond bunny, Ava, Hunter’s soft lips .
Shit . I jolt upright, wincing immediately at the pounding in my head as I lean back on the headboard. I kissed Hunter last night . I turn slowly, confirming he isn’t still next to me. Maybe he went home. I can’t blame him. That is a boundary neither of us can cross. Except I did , and he tasted just as good as before. Shit .
I reach up to soothe my temple, and my hand brushes against the edges of my bonnet, which I don’t remember putting on. My heart thumps wildly at the thought of noncommittal Hunter caring for sloppy drunk me last night. And then I kissed him . Ugh . My hair spills around my face as I slide off the bonnet. When I stretch my legs, a dull ache shoots across my left ankle. A bruise, wrapped around swollen flesh, throbs as I swing my legs off the bed. Despite the pain, the memory of being tucked inside Hunter’s arms as he carried me across the parking lot flashes in my mind. I groan at a different kind of throbbing between my legs.
Absolutely not !
Getting turned on by being close to him, biting my lip as my fingers graze the spot where his warm hand gripped my thigh, moaning at the memory of the spicy ginger musk on his shirt collar—it all needs to stop. I squeeze my legs together, which only makes me whimper at the relieving pressure. Damn it . Get a hold of yourself .
My head and leg compete in a pain biathlon as I hobble out of bed. I almost fall trying to keep my full weight off my foot while heading to the bathroom in the hallway. But I halt at the sight of Hunter sitting on the couch, drinking coffee from a to-go cup.
“Morning, Tooth Fairy,” he teases, nodding at my crumpled dress.
“What are you still doing here?” Ignoring the fluttering in my chest, I continue my journey to the bathroom, pausing at the door for his answer.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay after last night.”
“Last night?” Sweat prickles on my scalp. I hope with everything I have that he doesn’t bring up the kissing. “I don’t even remember last night.”
“You drank up the bar after our run-in with Marcus, and then you tripped down the stairs and broke your boot. You should probably get more ice on your ankle.”
“That’s it?”
“Yeah”—he nods—“that’s it. You were blasted though. How’s your head?”
I grimace as the dull riot settles at the base of my skull. “Like a tiny jackhammer has taken up residence.”
He smiles, eyes falling to the coffee in his hand.
“Gimme a minute.” Closing the bathroom door, I breathe out all the anxiety rifling through my body. He didn’t bring up the kissing. He’s acting like it didn’t happen . This is good . I can just pretend I remember nothing, and he can chalk it up to all the drinks I had last night. We can forget it.
When I limp back into the living room, Hunter’s digging in the freezer. I crash onto the couch, losing my balance while trying to avoid stepping on my foot. He chuckles as he watches me, ice in hand.
“Here.” Stacking throw pillows on the coffee table, he motions for me to rest my foot on top. I don’t move, a little in awe of how he’s taking care of me right now. “Put your foot up.” He gestures toward the pillows again.
“It’s too early for you to be this nice.”
“It’s 10 a.m., and I’m always this nice.” A smirk slides across his lips as he lays the ice on my ankle. “You said so yourself last night. Called me pretty too.”
“Mmm, don’t think so. Must have been that other fairy.” I crane my neck toward the extra cup of coffee on the table and spot a lemon poppyseed muffin. My favorite .
He chuckles, handing me a bottle of water. “Water first, then muffin, then coffee.”
“Bossy,” I tease before guzzling.
“If you say so.”
“I say so.”
“You said I was pretty too, so…”
“No, I said your eyes were pretty…” I cringe immediately. Damn it ! I just couldn’t resist arguing with his smart-ass goading. He’ll never let me live this down.
His eyebrows tick up as he smirks. “So you do remember?”
“Bits and pieces,” I say, making grabbing motions to signal for the muffin. “Did I do anything else?” Bracing for him to mention the kiss, I force myself to look into his eyes. He gives me a cool green stare, not even blinking.
“No p e.” He pops the p and hands me the muffin. “Nothing.”
Thank God he’s playing along . Relief floods through me, but I shouldn’t be surprised by this. We’re good at pretending.