CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
KINLEY
CONFUSION ANDpain consume me as I blink my eyes open. My head is pounding like someone is hitting me with a hammer, the room I’m sleeping in is not mine, and I’m in a t-shirt.
The spicy smell of Rhys is all around me.
Sitting up slowly, I look at the bedside table and see an open bottle of ibuprofen and a bottle of water. The room is masculine with turquoise, gray, and white colors, and the curtains are still drawn over the window to block the sun.
Last night starts to come back to me in pieces. The last thing I remember is Rhys questioning me in the parking lot of the club. His dark brown eyes were really close to mine.
Slowly pushing myself to a sitting position, I reach over and take the pills and guzzle half the water. My mouth is like a damn cotton ball and tastes as bad as a sewer.
My cheeks turn pink as I realize I probably vomited. Idrank way too much last night.
I was just so fucking mad and hurt. But I vaguely remember Rhys telling me he didn’t send anyone to my house. I do remember him apologizing for pushing me away.
Setting the bottle of water back on the table, I look down at the black T-shirt I’m wearing and lift the covers to see I’m not wearing any underwear. I don’t feel like I had sex. There’s no soreness or remnants of sex. Sniffing the air, I don’t smell like I had sex.
Looking around the room, I don’t see my dress anywhere, but my clutch is sitting in a chair next to the window. I crawl to the foot of the bed to see if my dress is discarded on the floor anywhere, but I don’t see it.
Oh God, I hope I didn’t vomit on myself.
I’ll be mortified if I did.
Tiptoeing to the door, I open it a crack and look down the hall. The house is quiet. Maybe he had to go to work. I’ll get cleaned up and call an Uber.
Looking over my shoulder at the chest of drawers across from the bed, I open the top drawer and pull out a pair of boxers and tiptoe across the hall to the bathroom. It smells like a fresh shower and Rhys’ body wash.
The person looking back at me in the mirror looks like a fucking raccoon with rabies. My hair is a bird’s nest, and all the dark makeup I put on for the perfect smokey eye is smeared across my face. I look like I’m wearing a damn burglar’s mask.
Half laughing at myself and half hoping Rhys didn’t see me like this, I twist my hair up on top of my head and turn on the cold water to wash my face. Next to the sink are a new toothbrush still in the package and a tube of toothpaste.
Pulling on the boxers, I knot the waistband and roll it down a few times, tucking the front hem of the shirt behind the band before I walk down the hall. As I get close to thekitchen, I still don’t see him, but I can feel him. He’s around the corner waiting for me.
Why does that make me so damn happy?
Poking my head around the corner, I see him leaning against the kitchen counter in front of the sink. His bulgy arms are crossed over his bare muscular chest, and his sweatpants are hanging low on his waist, the V of his stomach dipping behind the waistband.
Chocolate brown eyes bore into me, and he cocks his brow when he sees my head.
He’s so damn hot.
Clearing my throat, I walk past him, avoiding eye contact, and go right to the cabinet to get a coffee cup. The coffee maker is still where I left it, along with the pods, so I put one in the basket and start brewing a cup. I can feel his eyes on my back, so I break the silence.
Not turning to face him, I ask, “Do you keep new toothbrushes in the package for all the girls you have over?”
I won’t lie and say jealousy didn’t rear its ugly head when I had that thought while brushing my teeth.
He doesn’t answer. He’s waiting for me to turn around, but I’m not going to. My feelings are still raw from yesterday, and I don’t want to face him right now.
“I can’t find my dress. You know, I’m not a walk of shame kind of girl, if that’s what you’re doing. I’m not above wearing your boxers home.” The coffee maker gurgles and beeps, so I take the cup out of the cradle and set it on the marble to add creamer.
He’s still silent behind me, but I can feel his eyes all over me.
Fine, if he doesn’t want to talk to me, he doesn’t have to. “Just let me drink this one cup and I’ll call an Uber.”
That gets him.
