Red flag number two.
I cannot reach either edge. I frown into the heavenly smelling pillow, listening for the sound of my pets.
Red flag number three.
Perfect silence. Not even the flutter of wings.
My heart hammers away when I tear myself into a seated position, the unfamiliar room spinning wildly in tune with my stomach roiling. I fist the bed sheets, afraid I’ll tumble to the floor if I don’t hold on. The bed is massive, swallowing me whole with its plush pillows and crisp white sheets.
Blinking my bleary eyes, I look around, wondering where on earth I landed and...how? The room is huge, bathed in sunlight, the walls a light shade of blue that should be comforting but isn’t, considering I have no idea where I am.
My walls are white, so these walls aren’t mine.
I don’t have an ocean view from my bedroom window either. Sheer curtains dance in the salty breeze that sends chills down my back.
Squinting against the sunlight, I scan the expensive-looking, modern dresser against one wall, top bare, no picture frames in sight. A cozy wingchair is tucked into the corner next to a low coffee table where a stack of gray clothes awaits.
Finally, my eyes land on the bedside table, and the note propped against a water bottle. I pick it up with trembling fingers, reading the words written in unfamiliar handwriting.
Addie,
Don’t panic, you’re safe.
I’m sure you’ve found the water and painkillers by now. There’s a change of clothes on the coffee table. Don’t expect them to fit. Your bag’s hanging on the door, and your phone’s charging on the other night table. The bathroom’s on your right.
Come downstairs when you’re ready.
Colt.
Colt... the hot-as-sin, tall, broody guy from last night. Relief floods my system, somehow amplifying the headache.
Relief shouldn’t be my go-to feeling, seeing as I’m missing a substantial chunk of last night and woke up in a stranger’s bedroom, but I’m fine. Safe. Still in the dress I wore last night. Ugh... how drunk was I that I didn’t bother taking it off?
Colt wouldn’t leave me a note, painkillers, and water if he was a kidnapper, would he?
I swallow two pills, though I’m tempted to tip back at least five. Washing them down with water, I reread the note, my cheeks heating with embarrassment.
How did I end up here?
Bits of last night filter into my memory, but they’re like shattered glass, impossible to piece together.
I remember the Express Dates, Wesley calling me crazy, and then Colt and his identical brothers... everything after has fallen irrecoverably into the abyss of my pounding headache and alcohol-induced haze.
I stumble out of bed, my legs barely holding my weight. I enter the luxurious marble bathroom and find a spacious walk-in shower with an array of expensive-looking soaps lining its narrow shelf. White tiles gleam under the soft lighting as I strip, stepping under a stream of cool water to wash off the remnants of last night.
Ten minutes later, I shimmy into a pair of men’s gray sweatpants, tightening the strings, then tug a loose white t-shirt that dwarfs me over my head.
It’s not exactly a fashion statement, but it’ll do for now. I leave the pristine bedroom behind, bare feet padding against stone stairs as the familiar melody of “Sweater Weather” by the Neighborhood fills the air, growing louder with each step.
The staircase arches left, ending directly opposite a larger-than-life kitchen. Colt’s there, his back to me as he fiddles with a professional-looking coffee maker. The space is bright, filled with sleek appliances, breakfast bar in the center. The bitter aroma of coffee drifts through the air, mingling with the scent of sizzling bacon.
Colt turns around, a flicker of surprise in his eyes as they meet mine. “Good morning. How are you feeling?”
I smile sheepishly, dragging my fingers along the cool marble tops. “I could be worse. Thank you for the clothes and taking care of me.”
He takes me in, starting with my bare feet, then up, assessing the fit of his oversized clothes, before he smirks at my wet hair and offers me a cup of coffee. “You’re rude when you’re drunk, you know that? And aggressive.” He points out a big bruise on his arm and... is that...?
“Oh God... Ibityou?” I gasp, my cheeks reaching boiling point as I look away. “I’m so sorry. I don’t remember much after Wesley left. How did I end up here?”
