"Like a roadkill coyote, I'm sure." I don't need this guy telling me how terrible I look. I palm my hair, swipe under my eyes, discovering the telltale crust of old mascara.
He smirks. Shouldn't he be too hungover to smirk? I know I am.
"I was going to say you look good wearing my shirt."
Stomach sinking, I glance down.
No Muff Too Tuff.
I'd say I've officially hit rock bottom, but I have a feeling the bottom is an illusion at this point.
My head snaps up when Dom takes a step toward me. My hand shoots out. "Stop right there. On a scale of one to ten, how likely is it that you saw me naked last night? Or, this morning?"
Dom pauses. He's wearing shorts, something like what he wore to dinner last night. Probably the same ones, unless the airline found and delivered his luggage.
He stays quiet, evaluating. Then he says, "As much as I would love to tell you something that would make you want to crawl into a hole, I'll be honest. You grabbed my shirt the second we walked into this room, went into the bathroom, and came out with it on."
Hmm. Ok. I can work with that. I'm pleased with hammered-yet-modest past Cecily.
"Did we..." I gesture from me to him.
He shakes his head. Does it not kill him to motion that way right now? "Did we what?"
"Did we...you know?" I make a ring with my pointer finger and thumb, poking my finger from the opposite hand through.
His brow furrows. "I'm not sure what you're getting at."
An angry breath streams from my pursed lips. I don't have the patience. I may not have much time before I'm placing my face where faces are not meant to go. "What about that hand motion are you not understanding? Did. We. Shag?"
He grins.
Comprehension dawns. "That was mean."
"That was fun," he argues. "I was wondering how creative you could be while nursing a hangover this atrocious. And no, we didn't sleep together. Not in the way you mean, anyway." He gestures at the bed. "We most definitely fell asleep on that bed at the same time."
He steps closer, cautious, testing the temperature between us. This time I don't stop him. I'm feeling more generous now that I know we didn't do anything totally regrettable.
He pauses, eyes locking with mine. "For the record," he says, voice low but steady, "Enthusiastic consent is a requirement for any woman I take to bed. And you were not in a position to give enthusiastic consent." There’s no bravado in his voice, just conviction.
My pulse skitters at the idea of beingenthusiasticwith Dom, but I tamp it down. "You do know the difference between enthusiastic andmy show starts in two minutes that should be enough time for you,right?"
Dominic nibbles his lower lip while he stares at me. Shirtless. Ugh. Fuck him and all his muscles. He opens his mouth, pauses, and decides against it. He sinks onto the bed, staying on top of the comforter. I push myself all the way to seated, still fighting the effects of the hardest night of partying I've ever participated in, and drag my knees into my chest. My arms wrap around my knees, and my head leans on my forearms in a way that makes it possible for my eyes to remain on him. Now that he's closer, I see the redness in his eyes, how the hangover tugs at the corners. I am delighted to note he looks a shade green.
"Cecily, you?—"
"Dom?" Klein's panicked voice punches through the door at the same time he knocks hard. "Dom, open up. Now."
Dom's eyes find mine briefly before he stands, striding for the door. From my position on the bed, I can't see around the little corner to the door, but I hear it swing open. Klein says, "Please tell me that picture was a joke."
Paisley's higher pitch joins in. "Dominic, I'm going to inflict bodily harm on you. Something creative. You'll never see me coming."
"What are you talking about?" Dom asks. Klein and Paisley barrel further into the room, clearing the corner that was keeping my presence unknown.
Paisley screeches to a halt. She stares, her eyes as bloodshot as Dom's, and probably mine, too. Her blonde bun dangles precariously from the crown of her head. Klein looks like he has aged five years overnight.
The four of us are a motley crew.
"Hey," I say weakly. It's not lost on me that although I'm in front of my friend, I am also in front of my boss. It's not a good look.
