This was the absolute worst day to have twenty-twenty vision.
As I’m backing away, I stumble over a pair of jeans and topple against a piece of furniture. Kenna stops moving, whips her head around. Tag launches into a sitting position.
I blanch.
She scrambles.
He throws something at me and shouts, “Annalise! Get the fuck out!”
I glance down as the item lands on my shoulder.
A pair of boxers.
Not helpful. Not at all.
“S-sorry!” I stammer, flicking Tag’s boxers away like they’re a biohazard.
“Don’t you knock?” Tag blares. “Goddamn!”
No. I don’t knock. This is the second time I’ve forgotten how to knock and walked into a porno. My cheeks are on fire as I continue backing away while mentally dialing my therapist. That’s when I remember—I left my phone in here.
Shit.
“One…one sec!” I hightail it over to the opposite side of the room.
“What the hell? Jesus, just go!” Tag howls, yanking the covers up over his body while Kenna is nothing but a blanket-born lump molded into the bedspread.
“Need my phone!” Holding a hand to the side of my face to block the evidence, I snatch my phone off the table, then sprint back toward the exit, tripping twice.
Tag’s curse sees me out the door as I slam it shut behind me.
Finally. Freedom.
I’m in a horror-drenched daze as I zombie back to my room, hardly remembering the elevator ride up. That was unexpected. Tag and Kenna. Kenna and Tag.
She was completely disgusted by the idea just a few hours ago.
Now she’s—
I halt in place when I spot a familiar figure sitting in front of my room, his back against the door. Chase looks up as I stall a few feet away, my air escaping in a stunned breath.
Swallowing, I pin my lip between my teeth, taking in his sagged shoulders, chalky face, and mess of hair in full disarray.
The last few minutes dissipate, different memories replacing the psychiatry-inducing comedy sketch I just walked out of.
“Chase,” I whisper.
Slowly, defeatedly, he stands. “Hey.”
“What are you doing here?”
One shoulder pops up. “It’s midnight.”
My throat stings. I step closer, lessening the gap between us, reliving the storage closet moment on repeat with every inch toward him. “We don’t have to talk tonight. I know things are kind of…raw.”
His hands twitch at his sides like he’s desperate to reach for me. “That’s why we need to talk. I can’t wake up tomorrow morning without you beside me. Not after that.”
“I just—”
