With the third thunderous knock, I tear myself off the pillow, standing on unsteady legs, the quick motion sending a sharp pang of pain through my skull. My stomach churns so hard I think I’ll hurl all over the place.
“I’m coming,” I rasp, my voice distant, the room spinning harder with every step. “I’m coming,” I try again, but even I can barely hear it.
“It’s open,” I hear Cody say in the hallway. “Go right in. She’s probably still asleep.”
I groan. I’d rather be left to wallow in my misery alone.
“Shit,” Brandon yelps. “You scared the hell out of me, man. Listen, I...” He trails off, his words heavy with guilt. “Finn told me what happened last night. I can’t remember a thing. Thanks for getting her home safely. How is she?”
“She was okay when I put her in bed.”
My heart lurches, swelling enough to break a rib, as mortification and relief wash over me. Cody brought me home.
He took care of me.
I study my shivering hands, frowning when I notice I’m wearing a hoodie.Cody’s hoodie. It’s soft, warm, and many sizes too big as it falls to my mid-thighs.
“I shouldn’t have drunk that much,” Brandon mutters.
“No, you shouldn’t have, and you shouldn’t have let Alan lock her in that fucking closet.”
A flashback hits me. I remember Alan smiling, his watch... his hand around my waist...
Feeling nauseous, I wrench the door open, staring at Cody across the hall. He looks like I feel—pale, dark circles under his eyes, and clearly still feeling the effects of last night’s Patrón.
“I guess she’s up now,” he says, arms folded over his chest. The way he looks at me sends my pulse racing. “You good?”
The tension between us resumes, more potent than last night. It’s evolved into a palpable energy, a whip of raw, bright red electric current coiling us tighter and tighter together.
I shake my head, prompting another jarring ache in my skull. “What happened?”
“I’ll tell you inside,” Brandon says. “Come on, babe, I’ll make you breakfast. You look like shit.”
“Knock if you need the other side of the story,” Cody clips. Then he flicks his eyes to Brandon. “Don’t fucking lie to her.”
It’s not just how he says it—full of warning and threat—but how he roves my frame, his gaze burning into me like the thrill of a stolen kiss. It’s a hard-to-read look. It could be anything from concern to anger to desire. I can’t tell which, but I can hope.
His dark eyes linger where the hem of his hoodie meets my thighs and a flush creeps up my neck.
Does he want it back?
I tug at the collar to check there’s anything underneath. Thankfully, there is. The dress is bunched at my waist, but still there. I shove my hands under the hoodie to readjust the fabric, but Cody cuffs my wrist, kindling a smoldering fire within me.
“Don’t,” he says, his voice low and body tense. “Keep it.”
Does he likes how it looks on me, or does he recall dressing me in it last night? Just as I’m starting to float, an unpleasant realization surfaces, like a sharp, stinging slap across my cheek.
He doesn’t want the hoodie back because I wore it. Because ittouchedme... He’d bin it the moment I’d hand it back.
Another wave of regret, guilt, and hurt twists my stomach, the shame only amplified by my hangover. This is what Mia must’ve felt when Jake and I called hercootie Mia. Dirty. Humiliated. Unwanted.
Karma’s finally caught up with me.
I pinch my lips, swallowing the tears. I deserve to feel unwanted, humiliated, dirty... I deserve much, much worse, but it hurts so much.
Brandon shoulders past me, heading straight for my kitchen. He’s out of sight, but Cody’s not. I can’t make my vocal cords work. My eyes won’t meet his burning gaze. All I can do is retreat and close the door...
***
