Did we go home with a bouncer last night?
This is so fucked up and weirdly sweet for him to go through all this trouble.
I take the note’s advice and jump into the shower, hoping to wash away the stench of death before I meet the mystery man who left this note.
I grab a t-shirt, hoodie, and a pair of grey joggers from the wardrobe and slide them on before I go hunting for my sister, who is not in her room. Panicking, I run back into the room I just left and ring her phone.
I can hear it. It sounds like it’s coming fromsomewhere upstairs.
“Hello?” Ciara groans.
“Ciara!”
“Fucking hell! Please don’t shout; I already feel like I’m about to die.”
“Where are you?” I demand, my eyes jumping to the door in case she decided to magically appear.
“Bathroom, don’t wait for me.”
“Don’t make me go down there alone!”
“Don’t make me vomit all over the hardwood floors,” she counters and hangs up.
Double shit.
I take a deep breath and reluctantly make my way downstairs. “Please don’t be a psycho-killer. Please don’t be a psycho-killer.” I freeze on the bottom steps, debating going further or turning back to wait for Ciara.
“Morning.”
I almost jump out of the joggers.
I imagine I resemble a deer in the headlights as I turn to face the source of the voice. Red flag alert. RED FLAG ALERT! ALERT!! ALERT!!!
“Morning!” I squeak, imagining my face turning crimson.
It could not have been a bouncer. It could not have even been the barman. It had to be AJ Quinn in all his tattooed and topless glory. He leans against the doorjamb to the left of the staircase and smirks at me, his grey eyes roaming over me with a hint of amusement.
“I don’t bite, you know,” he says, then adds, “unless you ask me nicely.”
I gulp and give him a tight smile.
“H-how did we?” I trail off. I don’t even know what I want to ask. How did we end up with him? What the hell happenedto those two creeps? How did I end up in his bed?
AJ chuckles, his smirk widening. “You look like you need some coffee.”
Well, I suppose that’s one way of telling me that I look like a rumpled ball sack.
He turns to what I’m assuming is the kitchen. I don’t know what else to do but follow him and his absurdly muscular back as he walks away. “Latte? Mocha? Americano?” He throws over his shoulder, stepping around the kitchen island to the coffee machine.
“Eh…” I look at the machine, then at him. I don’t know why I was expecting him to have instant sachets or even a Nespresso machine. He has a proper espresso machine with all the bells and whistles; of course he does. “L-latte please.”
He takes a navy cup from the shelf and starts grinding the coffee beans, his hands moving with practiced precision. Navy to match his kitchen, I notice it once I can pull my eyes from his toned stomach.
“Are you alright, Katie?”
Shivers slither down my spine when I hear my name pass his lips. I must have told him my name at some point. I don’t remember telling him it at Dandelions.
“I think so, I’m just…”
