I wish I could call Drew right now. Get him to help me sort this out. He’s always been levelheaded when I dive into the shallow end of a problem. He probably doesn’t want to hear from me after last night—our confessions of love still churning hot in my memory—but Ishouldcall him.
I’d disappear into a bathroom or closet or any other confined space where I could be alone to do so if I had any idea where I was. In the world or in this space. Left or right, every closed door is a game of guess-what’s-behind-it that I’m not in the mood to play. Judging from this room alone, this place seems palatial.
Figuring Adonis must be some sort of crystal-induced manifestation anyway, I put one of my therapist’s tricks into practice. I plant my feet, close my eyes, and perform a few four-seven-eight breaths to ground my mind and right my senses. Surely this will all be gone once I’m done.
“Are you sure you didn’t hit your head too hard when you fell out of bed?”
My eyes snap open at the question, and Adonis stands, entire body now on full display, a beautiful crime scene I can’t tear my eyes away from. He scoops up his boxer briefs from the floor and wiggles into them.
Unfathomably, I think he’s real. So I take the excuse he’s handed me and run with it. “You know what, now that you mention it, I am more groggy than usual, and I’m having trouble remembering last night.”
His striking green eyes bulge. I swear I’ve seen those eyes before. “Should we call a doctor? We can’t have you forgetting stuff. Especially not your set for the big show. Jeez.” He’s off toward thedoor, opening it to reveal a long hallway and a trail of clothes like bread crumbs.
When I step out behind him, I realize that this isn’t a hotel; it’s an apartment. It’s far too lived-in while also being meticulously clean, which means I’m not the one maintaining it. We pass two more bedrooms (one turned into a home gym), two bathrooms, and a curved staircase that leads to God-knows-where (heaven, maybe?) before entering a solarium-like open living space where all the orange curtains are drawn.
I go to the nearest one, part the center, and look out. I’m greeted by a magnificent waterfront view, but this time it’s not the East River; it’s the Hudson.
Somehow, I made it to a penthouse on the Upper West Side overnight.
I unlatch the lock and fling open a door leading out onto a wraparound terrace. There’s a blue café table and chairs to my right. To my left, a comfy-looking outdoor couch sits with string lights, not dissimilar to the ones from CeeCee’s wedding, strung above. Plants in full bloom peek out of robust clay pots speckled around the brick walkway.
Adonis steals my attention again as he rummages around inside for his phone, checking the glass coffee table and then the spotless marble breakfast nook. “Is there anything I can get you? Tea, coffee, an ice pack? Do you think you’re concussed?”
I must be if this is real and I don’t remember coming here. This is paradise.
“No, not concussed. Just fuzzy. I feel…fuzzy.”
Adonis is a bit more frantic now, flinging throw pillows off the couch. His hands stop and hook onto his hips, where deep v-lines taunt me. “Oh, in that case, you had a lot to drink last night, not to mention the weed brownie, and maybe some poppers? It was a wild after-party.”
“After-party?” I don’t remember CeeCee’s wedding itinerary having an after-party on it, nor would it have ever included weed brownies and poppers. Those are two items on Doop’s do-not-use list.
“Yeah, for Taylor Pemberton’s comedy special taping. Are you sure you’re not concussed?”
“Taylor Pemberton got a special already?” The shock wears off immediately when I remember that I’m somehow inhabiting a waking dream. Or nightmare. Or alternate universe. Not quite sure on the details just yet.
Adonis doesn’t hear me, because he opens a door across the room and out scampers the floofiest, smiliest corgi I ever did see, shedding fur everywhere he goes. “Good morning, Milkshake,” Adonis coos. A tag is jangling around the dog’s neck as it leaps across the room, sniffs my feet, and then promptly starts humping my leg with so much force for such a small dog that I nearly topple over.
“Hey, stop that. You at least have to buy me a meal first,” I say, using my go-to line.
“Since when?” I hear Adonis ask from the other room with a laugh. Okay, I seriously don’t love that. “Where is my damn phone?” he cries. “This happens every time I come over here. We strip in three different rooms and I forget where everything is.”
I pull my focus from the frisky dog, who’s moved from my leg to the leg of a seafoam-green couch. “You said, ‘every time I come over here.’ This isn’t your place?”
He pads back into the room, barefoot, holding a pair of designer jeans and a plum-colored jacket. “Okay, you’re officially scaring me. What’s your name?”
“Nolan Baker.”
“Middle name?”
“Christopher.”
“Age?”
He stumps me there. I want to say twenty-three—the age I was when I went to sleep—but something fishy tells me that’s no longer the truth. I stammer for a few seconds before he comes to an alarming conclusion. “You’re dying. That’s it, you’re dying. You better not die, okay? You have so much coming up in the immediate future, and if that fall… Shit, if that fall is part of the reason, I was the only one here. I’m going to be questioned, and I shouldn’t have even been here.”
“Sorry to interrupt your spiraling—and as a professional spiraler, may I just say, you’re doing a great job—but can we pause for a second?” I try to regain my senses, failing mostly. “Why shouldn’t you have been here?”
“Because we told everyone we wouldn’t do this again.” He gestures down at his still half-naked body. “And look at us. In your apartment. Doing it again.”
