I’m suffocating in a heavy blanket of rosewater and lilacs. With each shallow breath, my stomach churns, and my head pounds with growing pressure. I’m engulfed, sinking deeper and deeper into an endless abyss. Aulie’s going to be the death of me.
Just like I always knew she would.
Another knot twists my stomach.
With a groan, I turn on my side. The mattress, softer than I’m used to, gives easily.
Flickers of last night string together in a hazy, incoherent mess. Couple that with my throbbing headache and a queasy stomach, and I think it’s safe to say I overdid it at the bar.
Simone is going to kill me.
Another dose of lightning surges through my frontal lobe.
Well, she will if I don’t have an aneurysm first.
Nearby, pages ruffle. My stomach drops. I don’t know how last night ended, but I know who I started it with, and after a few shots, the usual ache in my chest for her was getting insufferable.
Cracking one eye open, I hesitantly take stock of the room. The floral wallpaper, wooden panels, and floor-to-ceiling built-in bookcases confirm my fears. I’m in Aulie’s bed. Last night’s shrouded in a dense fog, and I can’t recall anything after the first period of the game.
The gentle morning light filters through the wooden blinds and illuminates Aulie’s curved figure as she reads in her cozy window seat. She’s settled in with a pillow propped up behind her and a blanket wrapped around her legs.
Again, my stomach turns.
That window seat is about four feet long, and Aulie is five-eight or five-nine. If she slept there last night, that couldn’t have been comfortable.
Her gaze doesn’t meet mine and I let my stare linger on her bee-stung lips glowing in the morning sun before following the curve of her neck and resting on the patch of exposed skin between the strap of her lace camisole and a tattered cardigan.
While my memory is fuzzy, I remember that shoulder torturing me all night long. A yearning swells to trace her delicate shoulder with my mouth and hear a soft exhale pass over her lips in response.
“Morning,” she says.
“Morning.” Sandpaper coats my throat forcing a strangled greeting.
“There’s water on the side table.” She runs a finger over her lips, focusing on the book before her.
My hand twitches at my side, eager to follow hers. Waking up to Aulie in the same room—to have her be the first thing I see in the morning—it’s a dangerous experience I can’t afford to repeat.
“Thank you,” I say, sitting up. My blanket falls away, exposing my bare chest to the chilly air, and I shiver.
I try to catch a glance at Aulie to see her reaction. Pink cheeks, a nervous work of the throat, something, anything to tell me I might have a chance someday, but her attention stays glued to her book.
Forget it.I’ve made too many messes that she’s cleaned up. There’s no way she sees me as anything more than a problem to solve. And I don’t know that I’d want to subject her to my non-existent dating skills, even if she cared for me in that way. I’m not the hero she deserves, and I never will be.
“Dessy, about last night—” I don’t know what I should apologize for, but waking up in her bed suggests last night didn’t end well.
“Already forgotten. You were hurting and drunk. I promise I understand.” She snaps her book shut. “Your shirt should be clean. Hold on, I’ll go get it for you.”
“What happened to it?”
She stands and cocks her head to the side. “You vomited on it?”
“Of course, I did.”
I’m lucky Aulie’s still showing me kindness if she cleaned that up.
A corner of her mouth tilts up into something mischievous. “How much of last night do you remember, Jack?”
I scoff, leaning against her headboard and muss the back of my hair with my hand. “I’m not that much of a lightweight, Dessy.”
