See, Eddie has seen me comfortable, wrapped in sweats and a blanket, but at least my hair was combed, and my eyeliner didn’t resemble a raccoon after a late night of dumpster diving.
I blow into my hand and grimace. Yeah, my breath could wake the dead.
This morning keeps getting better and better.
He passed out next to the hot version of me and woke up next to a forty-year-old, hungover, what-the-hell-did-you-do-last-night crypt keeper.
Perfect.
Why couldn’t I have woken up before him?
Time to move, and fast, because lying here naked in his bed while I spiral isnothelping the situation.
I scramble out of bed and gather my clothes that have somehow wound up tossed in every corner of his room.
That settles it. I am a maniac.
Making a beeline for his bathroom, I shut and lock the door, leaning against it with a heavy sigh.
Time to assess the damage.
But the mirror doesn’t crack when I meet my reflection’s gaze. Okay, I’m not far off with the raccoon comparison, and my hair looks like I went a few rounds with a wind tunnel and lost, but it’s not catastrophic. I can work with this.
I finger-comb my hair into a bun and wash the dark brown smudges from my face. Look at that—almost human again. There’s a tube of toothpaste on the counter, and I squeeze a little onto my finger, swiping it across my teeth because we are doing the best we can with what we have.
Getting there. Now to throw on my clothes, except… where the hell are my underwear?
I know I had a pair. Standard black bikini, because I wascertainsex wasn’t happening last night.
I rummage through my clothes but they’re nowhere to be found.
Shit, they could be anywhere.
Oh my God, I absolutely cannot be the reason Eddie has to explain stray lingerie to his kid or his ex. That is not how I want to be remembered in this town.
I rush back into his room, turning in a slow circle as I scan the floor. “Where the hell are you?”
As if they might magically announce their location if I ask nicely.
Then, because apparently the universe has decided I haven’t suffered enough yet, I glance up.
There they are. Hooked over the blade of the ceiling fan like some kind of deranged victory flag.
How the fuck did they get up there?
Sighing, I jump for them, missing the first time. Of course I do.
The second attempt is more successful. “At least we know I had an absolutely hot as hell, completely unhinged good time.”
The question is, did Eddie leave, or is he hiding somewhere, nursing a hangover and a serious case of regret?
I’m not in the mindset to want the answer.
I finish dressing and realize I can’t find my purse. Okay, enough of this sadistic treasure hunt.
Of course, I can’t leave it, since it contains my phone, keys, and life.
I recall tossing it near his door and it spilling everywhere. Wonderful, now he’s busy collecting my tampons along with my dignity.
