I wasn’t going to figure that out until I’d had a shower and some coffee, so I hauled myself onto my feet, flushed the toilet, and stripped out of my clothes. Then I dragged myself into the shower, which helped a little. Coffee would help a lot more.
In a pair of gym shorts and an old tank top, I managed to get my stupid ass down the stairs… only to very nearly tumble off the bottom step.
From my couch, Peyton watched me. He wasalsostill wearing what he’d had on last night, minus his shoes.
How do I know what he was wearing last night?
That answer came fast—he’d picked me up at the club. I didn’t remember how he’d known I needed a ride, or if he’d just shown up and taken me home, but I knew I’d come back with him.
But why the hell was he still here?
“Uh. Hi.” I cleared the last step. “You’re still—You stayed over?”
He nodded, pushing himself to his feet. “Didn’t seem like I should leave you alone.”
I died a little inside. “Do I even want to know why?”
Peyton’s laugh was soundless and gentle. “Pretty sure your hangover is a clue.”
“Yeah, I know I got drunk. But…” I grimaced. “What did Ido?”
“I don’t know.” He slid his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “You texted me and asked me to pick you up. So I did.”
That wasn’t the whole story. I could see it in his eyes and the way they couldn’t quite stay on mine.
I avoided his gaze. “Do you, um… Do you want some coffee?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
We silently moved into my kitchen. At least coffee didn’t require too many brain cells to make. I was too hungover for anything more complicated than working a Keurig, andwaytoo distracted by my unexpected houseguest.
With coffee cups in hand, we returned to the living room.
The living room where Peyton had slept. After bringing my ass home from… wherever I’d been.
I surveyed the couch. He’d used the afghan that had been draped over the back, and he’d arranged some throw pillows for his head. Fresh guilt twinged in my stomach; how much of a mess had I been last night that I’d let him sleep like that?
“Sorry,” I murmured as I sat on one end of the couch. “I, um… I should’ve put you in the guest room, or…” I shook my head and stared into my coffee.
“It’s all right.” He shifted a little, and I winced when I realized he was twisting a crick out of his back. God, he must’ve been miserable; this couch was comfortable for watching movies and stuff, but it wasn’t great for sleeping on. I hadn’t been too worried about that when I’d bought it, because… guest room.
Jesus. I was seriously batting a thousand when it came to this man.
I swallowed some coffee and made myself look at Peyton. “Any chance you can fill me in on last night?”
I fully expected an eyeroll and a scoff, followed by somecomment about what a trash fire I was. Except that wasn’t really how Peyton rolled; I was probably just projecting because… Well, because I was a trash fire, and I didn’t imagine I was fooling anyone about that anymore. Least of all this man.
Peyton took a sip of his own coffee. “Like I said, you texted me and asked me to come get you. From a club.”
“Oh God,” I croaked. “And I don’t remember much of it, so I must’ve been shitfaced.”
“You were,” he acknowledged gently. “But you weren’t… I mean, you were drunk. But you weren’t, like, belligerent or anything.”
“I guess that’s a plus.” I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed. “I’m sorry. I appreciate you coming and getting me. But… I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Better than driving yourself.”
“Yeah.” I dropped my hand into my lap. “I… kind of remember not wanting an Uber driver or something to see me like that, either.”
