Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

The sun is rude.

That’s the first thought to bubble to the surface of my dehydrated, hungover brain on waking up. How dare the sun shine in my face this way. Well, the sun was all the way on the other side of the world when I drank too much. It doesn’t know any better than to rudely awaken me.

Drank too much.

This isn’t my bed. The sheets are way too fancy.

What happened?

I have to pry open one eye to look around, sun or no sun. What did I do last night?

The sight of a naked shoulder next to me is enough to inspire a screech of surprise and horror.

Which inspires a dog to start barking, which inspires my head to pound harder than it already was.

The shoulder flexes, moves, and suddenly, the person beside me is rolling over to give me a smile. I know that smile. Oh crap.

“How are you feeling?” Matt asks with a knowing look.

“Um … I’m not sure.” Because clearly, he doesn’t want the laundry list of everything running through my head. How did I end up in bed with him? Did we do it? If so, how could I possibly forget having sex with this beautiful man?

Then again, it’s all a blank after a certain point. My memory’s a total wash.

“You were kind of messed up last night,” he explains, sympathetic. “You passed out in my arms actually.”

Okay, so that pretty much makes me want to die of embarrassment. “What then?” I ask in barely a whisper. I’m not even sure I want to know.

“And then I laid you down on my couch, out in the living room. I made sure you were still breathing okay. No offense, but I couldn’t stop thinking about that bag of liquor bottles from yesterday. I was afraid you might really have alcohol poisoning. I almost took you to the hospital. But you finally came to and said you only had four or maybe five shots of tequila. Painful, but it didn’t seem like that would kill you.”

“So, how did I end up in your bed?” I can’t believe I have to ask this, but that’s what happens when a girl who doesn’t normally drink that much at once just so happened to forget to eat anything beforehand. I don’t think I’ve ever been so humiliated.

Oh, wait, things can always get worse.

I sit up, facing away from Matt because I’m too embarrassed to look at him, and throw back the blankets. The cool morning air hits my skin. All of my skin. Like, my entire body.

“I’m naked!” I shriek, covering myself up again. “Oh my God! Did we—”

“No!” Matt laughs, and for a second there, I’m wondering if he finds the idea of sexing me truly hilarious. He’s certainly laughing hard enough. “No, you stripped your clothes off. Actually, you got partway—your pants—before you fell down and threw up all over yourself.”

“I did not.”

“You did. And on my rug. Anyway, you wanted to get into bed, and I figured that was safer than letting you fall down again and actually hurting yourself. Only I wasn’t about to let you get into bed with puke on your clothes. Don’t worry,” he adds when I just about faint. “I was a good boy and didn’t peek. Notice how bundled up you were. We weren’t even sharing a blanket.”

He’s right about that. I was pretty much a burrito in my blanket while he’s still covered in another one. That bodes well.

Even so, I have no choice but to put my hand over my face and shake my head. I can barely take a peek at him from between my fingers.

Though I do take a peek, and what I see almost makes me forget how bad my head feels and how I wish I hadn’t had so much to drink. I dated in college, but they were just boys.

Matt? He’s all man. His brown hair’s a little mussed. His cheeks are covered in scruff that only makes him harder to resist. His eyes, I notice, aren’t brown like I thought they were. They’re hazel, and in my writer’s mind, I imagine them changing color depending on the light and what he’s wearing.

Has a man ever looked better in the morning? Especially shirtless, which definitely works in his favor.

It only makes me feel worse, to be honest. “I’m so embarrassed.”

He’s got it all together, and he looks great while I’m the messy chick from across the hall who threw up all over his apartment.

“You don’t have to be. This sort of thing happens. If anything, I’m glad we hung out, and I finally know what you do for a living. I’ve gotta be honest. I thought you were either a flight attendant or a stripper.”

“A stripper?”

“Don’t worry; your performance last night would’ve killed that theory even if you hadn’t already told me you’re a writer.” He snickers, but he’s not being mean. Playful, if anything. “You have really odd hours. I’ve noticed things about you too. You’re not the only one who pays attention.”

I don’t know if that’s a compliment or what.

“And you’ve been a good neighbor on one account, for sure.”

“What’s that?”

“You order a lot of Chinese food. It’s gotten to the point where if you order, the restaurant calls me to see if I want anything too. And they waive my delivery fee.”

“No fair!” It’s really not either since those fees can add up.

He shrugs. “Next time you order lunch, maybe we could eat together. I work from home, same as you. It’s lonely sometimes.”

“Ha!” I blurt. “You’re lonely? I’ve heard you going in and out at night. You’ve got quite the healthy social life going on. I can even smell your cologne sometimes. It’s not hang-out-at-home-alone cologne. Let’s not even get started on how my office is on the other side of this wall.” I point to the wall in question. “And some of the girls you bring home aren’t exactly quiet.”

“Forget being a writer.” He smirks. “You should be a detective.”

“Funny.” I smirk right back with a roll of my eyes. “And now that I’m thinking more clearly, why are you shirtless?” I wrap myself a little tighter in my—no, his—blanket and try to look as dignified as I can.

He looks down at himself, like he didn’t know he was shirtless until just this second. “Oh, that. You puked on my shirt too. The one I put on after you passed out but before you decided to treat me to a clumsy striptease. I figured skin was easier to clean, so I’d better stay shirtless until I knew for sure you weren’t going to spew again.”

With that, he sits up and throws his legs over the side of the bed. Phoebe must hear the movement of the springs because she lets out a bark in response. “I’ve gotta go take Phoebe for her run. Don’t forget to drink plenty of water today, okay?”

I don’t have the chance to respond before he stands.

Oh boy. I wasn’t prepared for this. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts that leave little to the imagination.

And I’m a writer. I have a very good imagination. So good of an imagination in fact that I have to turn my back before the sight of Matt doing something as innocent as putting his clothes on makes my blood simmer dangerously.

The second he and Phoebe are out the door, I grab for the clothes folded neatly on a chair near the bed. They’re freshly laundered and everything. This guy … what’s his deal? I can’t get a handle on him.

Now’s not the time for that anyway. I grab the clothes and my computer, sitting at the bottom of the pile, and don’t even bother getting dressed before hauling my embarrassed ass across the hall and collapsing into bed.

Maybe I’ll get lucky, and by the time I wake up, my problems will have cleared themselves up. A girl can dream.

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