“Relax, babe. I respect the cuddle code.” He nuzzled into me. I tried to ignore the musky sheets and fell asleep in seconds.
I blink back to reality,staring at Deano’s broad chest. He’s snoring lightly, completely dead to the world.
And next door, Lacey isstillhaving the best night of her life. Or morning of her life. Good for her, I think bitterly, burrowing my face into the pillow. At least one of us got lucky.
And somehow, Troy fucking Hawkins still exists in my brain. Not in a sexy way or even in an angry way.
Just in a frustrating, lingering, why-the-hell-am-I-thinking-about-him-at-all way. I exhale slowly, my head starting to ache from the alcohol.
I need to get out of here and go home. Deano stirs, his arm tightening around my waist.
“Mmm, babe.” He sighs happily. “You smell nice.” Well,shit. I might act tough but something about this cuddly man being all soft makes me want to stay maybe just a little longer.
Deano snuffles in his sleep, his massive arm still draped over my waist like I’m a human-sized teddy bear.
I shift slightly, trying to get comfortable, but he just grumbles and tightens his grip.
Somehow, this is my life now.
Lying in a frat house bed, wrapped in the arms of a guy I didn’t even sleep with, while my best friend gets railed into another dimension next door.
To top it off, I can’t stop thinking about the fact that I’ll have to send out more pathetic emails begging someone to be my goddamn partner.
This is a low point.
Making sure not to wake sleeping beauty, I grab my phone off the nightstand and open my inbox.
One unread email.
I click it, my stomach already sinking.
RE: Future Innovators Competition – Partner Opportunity
Hey Delilah,
Wow, long time! I have to admit, I was surprised—butflattered—to hear from you. I always wondered whatmight’ve happened if things between us hadn’t gone the way they did. It’s a shame we didn’t work out.
Unfortunately, I don’t think it would be wise for us to team up. Given ourhistory(lol), it might get... complicated. And I don’t want to jeopardize either of our chances by letting old feelings get in the way.
Still, I hope there are no hard feelings. Best of luck in the competition.
Warmly,
Riley
I stare at the screen.
One date. We went onone date. If you can even call it that. He monologued through dinner, tried to shove his hand up my shirt, and thencriedwhen I said no.
That’s not “a thing.” That’s a therapy anecdote.
The audacity. The absolute Olympic-level delusion of this man.
I slam my laptop shut and sit back with a groan, scrubbing my hands down my face.
“Oh my God,” I mutter. “He thought we hadhistory.”
I cringe. Exhaling sharply and go back to the Future Innovators finalist list.
