I don’t know if I should be excited about that statement or scared to death.
3
Daphne
My head throbsas I pull the sheet over my face, trying to block out the sunlight streaming through the annoying little slit in the curtains. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth as I try to swallow, getting the first taste, which I’m not sure any amount of brushing will ever wipe away.
Last night, I had way too much to drink. I totally blame Morgan for continuing to ply me with alcohol long after Leo left. Aunt Fran was partially to blame because she got the ball rolling with the bottles of whiskey, sabotaging my plans to stay sober.
“You’re awake,” a deep, gravelly voice says beside me.
I freeze as my eyes widen.
Who the fuck is next to me?
I knew I was trashed, but I didn’t think I’d had so many shots I wouldn’t remember inviting someone back to my hotel room, but clearly, I did.
Lying here, thinking about last night, I remember being at the reception, laughing with my cousins. But for the life of me, I don’t remember walking through the lobby, the ride up in the elevator, or the last few steps to my room.
Shit.
This could be bad.
Like, really bad.
I squeeze my eyes shut and say a silent prayer, hoping like hell I didn’t sleep with one of my brother’s friends. Either way…this has to be my dumbest moment of my entire life.
Well, at least the second dumbest because that time under the football stadium bleachers with Tommy Pasquale probably takes the cake. But I’ve blocked that memory out for so long, I refuse to breathe a whisper of it to another human being for the rest of my life.
Maybe the guy and I passed out, and neither of us will remember a thing about last night. That would be the best scenario at this point. I can at least hope that will be the case. Maybe he was so drunk he couldn’t even get it up, or I’ll find him completely dressed and on top of the sheets because he was a complete gentleman.
A hand slides across my bare thigh and puts all doubt and hope I have to rest. “Please, God,” I whisper.
Rarely has the Almighty come to my aid, but there’s never been a time I needed him more than right now.
The bed dips as the stranger rolls closer. When his bare skin touches mine, I know my prayers have most certainly not been answered. By the way his morning wood is digging into my thigh, I can probably assume we fucked too.
“Morning,bella,” he says.
Oh shit. For real?I close my eyes again, and flashes of leaving the hotel come flooding back like giant slaps in the face in that perfect spot that makes you feel like your skull’s going to explode.
My entire body goes rigid. Leo’s naked. I’m naked. His cock is touching me, and I can’t remember a damn thing.
Just great.
“Did we…?” I suddenly feel ill.
I don’t give him time to answer. I don’t even care I’m naked as I roll off the bed and run toward the bathroom, knowing I’m about to hurl every single thing that could possibly be left in my stomach into the toilet.
Leaning over the porcelain goddess, I gag, waiting to vomit, but nothing comes. My chest heaves, and tears sting my eyes with the realization I’ve fucked up by sleeping with him.
Not just a little, but so damn big.
After growing up surrounded by men who easily could’ve walked straight out ofTheSopranos, I told myself I’d never get involved with anyone in the familybusiness.
My father ruined the sexiness Hollywood had portrayed. I knew the lifestyle wasn’t as glamorous as many people believed. Besides that, mobsters were dangerous as fuck. But out of all the guys in Chicago, why the hell did I have to sleep with one who’s the son of my father’s enemy?
The tears fall fast and hard as the stupidity of the entire situation hits me.
