“They’re not going to see when you have a shirt on.”
“I live with Waylon. I go to the fucking gym with them and change in the fucking locker room.”
Wow is he grumpy this morning. I’m not sure if it’s me, the hangover, or some combination that is putting him in this mood, but that part at least is decidedly unsexy.
“Then tell them it was one of your sorority girls or groupies. I don’t care as long you don’t tell any of them about last night.”
He puts his shirt on, pulling it down and smoothing it out. But he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t promise me he’ll keep it to himself. And that makes me nervous. I don’t want to be another on his long list. I don’t want other people to know I made that particular list.
“I’m serious. They can’t know. That includes Waylon.”
I worry he’ll tell his roommate, even in passing, and Waylon keeps nothing from Kenz. You tell one of them, you’re telling both of them. And I donotwant Kenz to know.
His back is to me, but I see the moment he straightens his spine, and stands a little taller after I say it. And I brace myself because he’s going to taunt me. I can feel it coming on.
“I heard you,” he says, and then he turns around, a little smirk on his lips. “And don’t worry, Princess, your dirty little secret’s safe with me.”
I expect more. I wait for more. Something rude. Something cruel. But he doesn’t say anything else on the subject. His face relaxes like he’s morphed into whatever the next chapter of his day is.
“Can I use the bathroom before I go?”
“Yeah.”
He disappears behind the door a second later. And apparently that’s it. End of discussion. Surprisingly easier than I expected, and I guess that’s a good thing.
I bend to start picking up some of the things that were knocked to the floor, the photos, a few things off my dresser, and the bottle of vodka he’d been drinking from. It was Kenz’s, and she was not going to be thrilled about that. I toss my clothes in the hamper and then set to work on the bed, smoothing out the sheets and putting the pillows back in order.
He re-emerges and looks refreshed. His hair back in some semblance of order and his clothes a little straighter. He still looks like he had a rough night but now it looks more like it was the result of too much alcohol and not from fucking me rough on every surface in this room.
“You coming down?” he asks gruffly as he heads to the door.
“Yep. Just need to put this away.”
He glances at the room, and then at me, picking the last few things up off the floor that we’d knocked over. He looks like he’s about to say something but then thinks better of it. And while I’m curious what it was, I’m thankful he doesn’t try to press my buttons this morning.
A moment later, I follow him down the steps and sure enough, our friends are downstairs at the dining room table. Drinking coffee and eating donuts that someone picked up, while they slowly start picking up the mess left over from the party.
“Seriously, what even is this?” Kenz holds up a cup that contains a putrid green concoction that’s slightly foamy.
“I don’t think we want to know. Here, give it to me.” Waylon takes it from her and grabs a bag of trash as he heads outside.
When we reach the bottom of the steps though, all eyes and heads snap in our direction. And I’m just begging the universe that I can manage not to blush here. Or look as guilty as I feel.
“Good morning!” Liv gives me a wild smile.
“Good morning!” I smile back at her and layer on a dose of cheeriness I don’t feel. “Please tell me that someone got the double chocolate donuts. I need one.”
“Two in that box.” Ben points and I grin at him.
“You’re the best!”
He smiles back at me but then his eyes drift over my shoulder, to the broad and broody man behind me. His brow raises in question, and I wish I could see East’s face. Make sure that it is serene and sleepy, and not smug and self-satisfied.
I can feel the tension mounting in the room as I move the boxes around to get to the donuts I want. The ones that are gonna fill my mouth so that I can’t possibly talk or elaborate on why I’m coming down the stairs in the morning with the six-foot-four tight end who hates my guts.
“Please don’t fucking make me be the one to ask,” Liam grumps from the far side of the table and I tense as I go to take a bite of the donut.
“I got pissed about the game again. Drank a shit ton. Passed out on her bed, and she let me stay ‘cause she was too tired to argue with my drunk ass. That satisfy you or you wanna interrogate her on whether or not I snore?”
