Chapter 23
CHARLIE
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
This was bad.
Next level kind of bad.
It’s true what they say about the morning after a night of drinking—it always sheds clarity. But Charlie hadn’t needed to sleep to know he’d messed up. Big time.
He sat on one of the barstools in his kitchen, the hot cup of coffee untouched between his hands, as he repeated the previous night’s events in his head.
He’d had a few too many, and that alone had been a mistake. One of them should have remained sober, or at least relatively so. And it should have been him. At least then Sam could have had fun without worrying.
What the hell had he been thinking?
Well, Charlie knew what he’d been thinking about.
I think I love you.
He was going to make sure he had those words engraved on his tombstone to showcase his utter stupidity.
He should’ve known better. Would have known better if he’d been sober.
She had been drinking. The probability that she’d gotten as lost in the moment as he had was too high to count.
If she woke up and remembered last night, the very real possibility that she would regret everything was too much for him to bear.
By the time he had realized his mistake, it had been too late.
Sam headfirst into a trashcan puking her guts up had been a fabulous wake up call.
It didn’t matter who started what. He’d still had enough of a right mind to…
Touch me.
A shiver tingled along the column of his spine, leaving him momentarily breathless at the recollection. Even with hindsight knocking at his door, the words sounded like a sweet siren’s call beckoning him into the abyss.
He ran a hand roughly through his hair, scouring his brain for the precise moment he should have known to turn around and take her home, before they’d gone past the point of no return—before his higher brain function was about to take a vacation day.
Well, if he was truly honest with himself, he knew when—and it was well before she’d ever put her hands on him.
He shouldn’t have left her by herself, even if it’d meant dragging her through the crowd with him. At least then, whatever primal part of his brain wouldn’t have kicked into overdrive seeing that asshole yanking Sam like some sort of caveman dragging his club behind him.
It hadn’t mattered that the guy was clearly intoxicated, three sheets to the wind with how much he appeared to struggle putting one foot in front of the other. Once he’d seen the way she stumbled and recoiled, trying to pull away, everything else fell away.
One word had been on his mind as he’d shoved his way through the crowd.
Mine.
Clutching both drinks in his hands had been just about the only reason that he hadn’t knocked the fucker flat out.
He should’ve known he was toast from then on.
He coughed, attempting to stoke the growing fire in his gut—and in his pants.
No, he really didn’t need to think about that. Especially not with her sleeping the night off in the next room.
A text chimed from his phone, abruptly and mercifully pulling him from his thoughts. His eyebrow quirked up at the name on the screen.
Mom got that parking pass you need for the gala - let me know when you want to swing by and grab it
Right. That was looming closer with each passing day as well. Creeping up on him like a loaded bomb just waiting to implode.
God, his head hurt.
Luckily, before he could fall down that particular rabbit hole, he heard Sam stirring in the next room.
He turned, mug in hand, as she shuffled into the kitchen.
Covering a yawn with her hand while offering him a sleepy smile.
She was wonderfully disheveled, a blend of the remnants of sleep and hangover mingling together.
Her hair was hastily tied up in a knot atop her head, loose strands of it falling uselessly around her face.
She scrunched her nose as one of the strands fell forward, tickling the edges of the little bags settling beneath her eyes.
It was frustratingly adorable in a disarming kind of way.
That is, until his gaze landed on the baggy shirt she had on. It wasn’t one of hers.
It was one of his.
His stomach lurched into his throat as his body desperately fought to mask the arousal that clawed to escape him.
Mine.
Fuck.
“Oh, thank God,” she said, the sound crackling around the rough edges of sleep lingering in her throat. “Is that coffee?”
Despite everything he’d been thinking and fretting over that morning—the whirlwind of thoughts swirling around in his head at the sight of her standing there, barefoot and in his shirt—he smiled warmly.
He offered her his untouched cup, watching with amusement as she eagerly snatched it and took a generous swig. She swallowed the liquid down and leaned back against the counter, facing him, a little sigh escaping her as she did.
If she remembered anything from last night, she gave no indication of it—and he wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
She shrugged. “About as good as anyone with a mild hangover would be.”
“Mild?” He chuckled softly, unable to stop himself from enjoying the sight of her pout in response. How she could possibly look adorable at this time of the morning with any kind of hangover, he had no idea. But there she stood, with a slight indignant twinkle in her eyes.
“Yeah, it’s not as bad right now as I feared it would be,” she continued after taking another generous sip. “I think I threw up most of it after we got home, though I don’t really remember that much of what happened. All I know is my tank is empty now.”
He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or not, but he forced a smile. “Hungry, then?”
“Starved,” she moaned, her eyes rolling into the back of her head as if the mere mention of food sent her to another plane of existence.
He laughed. “We’re a bit low on stuff in the fridge again, so I’ll need to run out and grab a few things. I can grab you something on the way back?”
“Can I come?” she asked, perking up further.
Part of him wanted her to—for them to return to some semblance of normalcy since it appeared she did, in fact, not remember last night if she was this calm about it.
He needed a few minutes to himself because even if she forgot, he didn’t. Their current living situation made taking a breather nearly impossible, and he still didn’t want to leave her alone for too long, just in case, so a drive to and from the store sounded like exactly what he needed.
“I need to get gas for the car and a few other quick errands,” he said instead of the truth. “You’ll be bored. Besides, don’t you have a book to work on, missy?”
Her pout deepened, casting doubt over whether it stemmed from his comment or his dismissal. He chose to believe it was the former.
“I do,” she relented. “But first I’m going to enjoy this cup of coffee.”
Charlie nodded in the direction of the pantry as he grabbed his car keys. “Well, there should be some scraps to hold you over while I’m gone, but I’ll be back quick as I can.”
He walked out before she could protest, not pausing until he was a few flights down from the apartment. Some fresh air would do him some good. Clear his head a bit. He’d grab some food, maybe even run by Tyler’s place over in Cary to get that parking pass, and come back with a fresh new attitude.
He would not let last night ruin everything.