Chapter 10 Iris
IRIS
The room tilts as I sit up, not spinning wildly but just off-kilter enough to be annoying.
I whine, hand flying to the headboard for balance as I inhale slowly through my nose.
Fuck, this sucks. I need water, Ibuprofen, and maybe a new brain if the black market is open on Sundays.
Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I wince at the cold floor against my bare feet.
Looking down, I freeze. I’m wearing an oversized T-shirt that definitely isn’t mine.
It’s way too big, hanging off one shoulder and brushing the tops of my thighs.
A man’s shirt. What the hell happened last night?
A vague sense of unease settles in my stomach, mixing unpleasantly with the nausea.
Fragments of last night float just out of reach, hazy and indistinct.
There was drinking, definitely more than I usually allow myself. But beyond that...
Sighing, I push myself to my feet. Whatever happened, I need water and painkillers before I can deal with it.
I make my way toward the bedroom door, my steps careful but steady.
As I pad down the hallway, one hand trailing along the wall more for reassurance than actual support, I strain my ears for any sound that might indicate I’m not alone.
Nothing. But that doesn’t mean much. I need to get to the kitchen, clear my head, and figure out exactly what kind of mess I’ve gotten myself into.
As I round the corner into the living room, my breath catches in my throat.
There, sprawled across my couch, one arm slung above his head, is a half-naked man.
His face is turned away from me, but I can see the muscular expanse of his back, the way the morning sun glints off his tousled dark hair.
Despite my panic, I can’t help but notice how the light plays across his skin, highlighting the defined muscles of his shoulders and arms. Not the point right now.
The point is that there is a stranger in my house, and I am defenseless. Fuck.
My eyes dart around the room, landing on the lamp sitting on the end table nearest me.
Without thinking, I lunge for it, unplugging it and hefting its weight in my hands.
Just as I’m about to bring it crashing down, he stirs, rolling over to face me.
His eyes fly open, widening in alarm as he sees me poised to attack.
“Stop, stop! It’s me!” he shouts, throwing his hands up in defense. I blink, recognition dawning. Dark brown eyes, framed by unfairly long lashes. The slight bend in the bridge of his nose.
“Collin? What the hell! I almost killed you!” My voice rises about an octave, and he winces as he sits up, running a hand through his disheveled hair.
“Shhh.” He holds his finger to his lips, his eyes screwing shut.
He glances up at me, his eyes bouncing between the hand on my hip and the one closed around the small table lamp.
A smirk plays at the corner of his mouth, and I’m irritated to notice the way it makes that single dimple appear on his left cheek.
“With a lamp, Iris?” I lower my makeshift weapon, but my grip on it doesn’t loosen as I point it at him.
“That is so not the issue right now. What are you doing here?” Collin’s eyebrows shoot up and he rubs a hand over the stubble on his jaw, grinning at me.
“You don’t remember? You asked me to stay.” The words hit me like a bucket of ice water. Suddenly, flashes of last night come flooding back, much clearer than before.
Neon lights pulsing. The acrid taste of tequila on my tongue. Collin’s laugh, deep and rich, cutting through the din of the crowded bar. His hand, warm on my lower back as he leans in close.
“Another round?” The brush of his lips against my ear sends shivers down my spine. The thrum of bass vibrating through the floorboards. Bodies pressed close in the crowded space. The heady mix of his cologne and the tang of sweat. My fingers circling his wrist.
“Dance with me.” Surprise flashing in his eyes, quickly replaced by something darker, more intense.
The press of bodies on the dance floor. Collin’s hands on my hips, strong and sure.
The heat of him against my back as we move together.
Flashes of skin in the strobing lights. The slide of fabric as we sway to the beat.
My head tipping back against his shoulder, exposing my neck.
His breath, hot on my skin. The scrape of stubble as his cheek brushes mine.
His thumbs absently tracing small, dizzying circles over my hips through the fabric of my skirt.
“Iris...” My name on his lips, barely audible over the pounding music.
Turning to face him, Our bodies flush against each other.
His eyes, dark and hooded, dropping to my lips.
The electric charge in the scant space between us.
The world narrows to just us, moving together in the hazy, pulsing light.
“Oh god... no...” I groan, shame washing over me in waves. Collin’s grin widens, that infuriating dimple deepening.
“Mhmm, somebody likes to dance. Somebody also likes tequila. Can’t say I saw that coming.
” He stretches his arms over his head, the movement making the muscles in his arms and shoulders flex and ripple under his skin.
My eyes trace the defined lines of his biceps, the broad plane of his chest, the taut abdomen disappearing into the waistband of his jeans.
Damn it, Iris. Focus. I set the lamp down on the coffee table with more force than necessary, my cheeks burning.
“This is bad. This”—I motion between us—“can’t happen again. I shouldn’t have gone out with you and your friends, that’s so unprofessional. We are colleagues, we are coworkers, we are—”
“Teammates?” Collin interjects, his tone maddeningly casual.
“Well, yeah, but—”
“And teammates have fun together, right?” I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly very aware of how little I’m wearing.
“Sure, but Collin, I’m pretty sure I threw up in my rose bushes last night.
That can’t seriously be your definition of fun.
” His eyes slowly scan over me, lingering where his shirt stops at the top of my thighs.
When he looks back up at me, his tongue pokes into his cheek, and there’s a glint in his eye that makes my stomach flip.
“I don’t think you want me to tell you my definition of fun.” Heat floods my body, a mix of embarrassment and something else I refuse to name as he stands. I tug down the shirt, scowling at him.
“Oh my god, get out!” I start pushing him toward the door. He grabs his shoes from where they’d been kicked off by the couch, chuckling as I all but shove him onto the porch.
“What? No thank you, Collin, you’re so handsome and heroic?” he teases, slipping his feet into his shoes. Then he pouts, those stupidly kissable lips forming a perfect bow. “You’re really kicking me out before I’ve even had coffee?” I roll my eyes, fighting back a smile despite myself.
“You’ll live.” He leans against the door frame, his proximity making my pulse skip.
“Goodbye kiss?” he asks, his voice low and playful. For a moment, I’m tempted. The memory of his hands on me last night, the way he’d looked at me on the dance floor... I lean forward, watching his eyes widen in surprise.
“Thank you, Collin,” I purr, then promptly shut the door in his face. Muffled laughter comes from the other side of the door as I press my back to it and slide to the floor, burying my face along with my involuntary smile in my hands.
“Anytime, Pretty Girl,” he calls through the door, his laughter echoing as he walks away.
I’m still sitting with my back against the door, face buried in my hands, when I feel the vibration of another knock rumble through the wood behind me.
The sound sends my heart skipping. I push myself to my feet, steadying myself against the door frame as a smile threatens to break through my determined scowl.
My bare feet make no sound on the hardwood as I turn the doorknob, already forming the words.
“I knew you were despera—” The words freeze on my tongue as I come face to face not with Collin’s cocky grin, but my mother’s perfectly arched eyebrow.
She stands on my doorstep in her usual Sunday best, her perfectly colored dark hair curling under her chin, double strand of pearls catching the morning light.
The way her eyes travel down to Collin’s shirt hanging off my shoulder makes my skin prickle.
“Well,” she says, drawing out the word like it’s made of silk, “I suppose that explains the half-dressed young man I passed on my way up your walk.” My stomach drops.
Of course she saw him. Of course Allison Clark, who spent twenty years of my life micromanaging every minute I spent on and off the ice, would choose this exact moment to make an unexpected appearance.
The woman who once drove four hours to my college dorm because I missed two of her calls in a row would obviously materialize on my doorstep the morning after I’ve made what might be the biggest lapse in judgment of my adult life.
“Mom, I can explain, he’s—”
“He’s what? A male escort? Exotic dancer?
At least he was wearing pants. I suppose we should be grateful for small mercies.
” She adjusts her coat, fussing with the collar.
“Now, are we conducting this entire conversation from the doorway? I wasn’t aware I had been demoted to door-to-door salesmen.
” I step aside, tugging uselessly at the hem of Collin’s shirt as my mother sweeps past me into the house.
I sigh, still tugging at the shirt. “Not that I don’t love our visits, but why are you here?”