3. Thayer
Chapter Three
Thayer
Oh, my God. What the fuck is blinding me? The brightest light known to man is making my brains come out of my ears. What the hell did I drink last night? And why the hell am I sweating like a man?
Kicking away the comforter, my foot runs across a rough surface. It’s firm and long. Muscle-bound with hair. Touching it again, I realize what it is I’m feeling.
I’ll be damned; I’m in bed with a man.
Wide-eyed now, I force a recollection from the night before. Alcohol. Lots of liquor with dancing. A large man comes to mind. I remember being really angry and very drunk. I’m sure one of those two reasons will explain this throbbing headache.
Slowly closing my eyes, I release a huff of anxiety. Why the hell was I so careless? I’ve never in my life done anything as remotely ignorant as last night turned out. I let that man get the better of my good judgment.
Lying here with a stranger, no clue where I am or how I got here. I’m so disappointed in how I handled his rejection. Never stopping to think of the repercussions of my lack of tact. I rushed to make him regret not wanting me.
Now, I’m in a predicament. In a strange place, bodies intertwined like two snakes. He’s hard and hot, making everything south of my naval scream for attention.
Looking around the room, I appraise my surroundings. The light glaring through the window tells me it’s morning. The sound of the ocean so close tells me we’re near the beach. I’m clothed to some extent. So far, so good.
The dude next to me tightens his grip when I try to move. I gotta get outta here. Luckily, nothing seems to have happened last night. But that doesn’t mean this guy won’t wake up with certain expectations. Now, how do I loosen his hold?
Furthermore, shit is gonna hit the fan if I’m not home soon. My big brother will call every law enforcement person he knows in Myrtle Beach if I don’t show my face really quickly. I really don’t want to explain how I got here.
My phone. Where’s my phone? I hear a phone, but it’s not mine. Damn it! This fucker’s going to be getting up. I have to get out of here. I hope Hardy didn’t see me leave with this asshole; he’ll never give me the time of day if he did.
Slipping one leg over the side of the bed, I attempt the ‘slow slide away’ for my escape. His grip loosens as his hand slides over my breast. I inch closer to the edge of the bed, the shirt I’m wearing exposes my breast, and I break an actual sweat in panic.
I adjust my shirt and realize I still have my panties on, but my bra is off. What kind of perv does that? I don’t want to know; I just need to leave with my dignity intact. Or at least as much as I can.
If my oldest brother finds out I allowed myself to get into this mess, the wrath of all that’s unholy will fall upon me. He’s protective as hell and ridiculously overbearing. Although a Neanderthal at times, he’s an amazing brother.
Ungluing myself from this dude’s grasp, I slip away. Once in the hall bath, I see why I’m in his shirt. Apparently, he washed my clothes and hung them up in the extra bath to dry. Who the hell is this guy?
By the taste in my mouth, I can deduce why my clothes needed washing. I must’ve vomited at some point last night. I find a new toothbrush in the cabinet and take care of my nasty breath before slipping my clothes on. It’s then I catch my reflection in the mirror.
“Oh, shit.” I grimace and take a few minutes to clean my face off. Raccoon eyes are nowhere near as hot as the smoky eye was last night. I giggle at the thought of waking up next to Hardy looking like this.
Which, in turn, makes me think of the man lying in bed in the next room. From what I could tell, he was undoubtedly built well. His claim on my body felt too real. Too good. Banishing my strange thoughts, I refocus on getting out of here in one piece.
Sneaking through the apartment, I find my phone on the charger with a million missed text messages.
Hitting search for a taxi to call, I realize I didn’t even get a good look at the man I made my slithering get away from.
Curiosity gets the best of me, and I decide to tiptoe back to his bedroom to check him out.
I mean, come on, it can’t be the same guy who was all over me last night. This one washed puke from my clothes and didn’t try to fuck me. Why didn’t he try? Now, I’m determined to find out who he is. Maybe he’s gay?
Peeking around the door, it’s easy to see he’s still sleeping. He has one arm thrown over his head; my pillow covers the rest. Nothing but those damn boxers cover his perfectly sculpted body. He’s a bronzed god with muscles defining every curve and nuance.
Intricate tattoos run the path from his left arm across his chest. As far as I can tell, his right arm is also covered. The perfect ‘V’ points to all things heaven sent. I don’t care; a saint or sinner would want this man. After another five minutes, I might talk myself out of leaving.
This isn’t the ridiculous mess I was dancing with last night. I need to see his face. Creeping closer, I’m about to see the Holy Grail when out of nowhere, I’m attacked from behind. I fall to the floor before I can defend myself.