Page 10 of Under Her

And what the fuck is that noise?

Is that drilling outside?

I live on the twenty-first floor, and my windows don’t open.

How the fuck can I hear drilling?

I lick my dry lips. My mouth feels as dusty as Morgan Stickford’s pussy probably was in college.

Shit. Morgan. She’s coming in this morning.

What time is it?

I blindly fumble around for my phone on my nightstand. Only there’s an empty space where my nightstand usually is.

I get a sinking feeling right at the same time as I hear a soft groan come from beside me.

Rubbing my eyes before opening them to the muted light in the room, I turn my head, and on the pillow next to me is a mass of long brown hair with a face hidden beneath.

Where the hell am I?

Definitely not a hotel room. There are a selection of bras and panties hanging on the radiator, drying.

Clearly, I got wasted and ended up back at this chick’s place.

So much for only one shot. Fucking Cooper.

I need to get out of here and get back to my apartment to get ready to face Morgan.

I slide out of bed, careful not to wake my bed partner up. I can’t deal with the morning-after conversation.

I locate my clothes and shoes in a heap on the floor. I pick up my pants and feel my wallet and cell in the pocket.

I pull my cell out and light up the screen.

It’s eight thirty.

Shit.

And I have five missed calls from Chrissy and three from my mom, which is odd. But then again, I am usually in the office by now, and they’re probably wondering where I am. Especially with Morgan coming in this morning.

I need to get in the office ASAP. I don’t have time to go home and change. I’ll call Chrissy on the way and ask her to get my clothes ready. I keep a few spare shirts and suits at the office.

I grab my shirt and pull it on, not bothering to button it up, and I slip my sockless feet into my shoes. Fuck knows where my socks are, but I don’t have time to look for them. I creep out of her bedroom, through the apartment, and quietly let myself out into the hall.

I look up and down the hallway. I have no fucking clue where the hell I am. The only recollection I have of last night is doing body shots off some chick—I’m assuming the one I just left in bed.

I swear, I’m never drinking again.

Ignoring the pounding in my skull, I jog down the hallway and find the stairwell at the end. I’m on the third floor. I run down the stairs, my shirt flapping as I go.

Then, I’m in the empty lobby, and I go out onto the street. Stopping on the sidewalk, I look around.

Where the hell am I? Nothing looks familiar to me right now.

I spy a cab approaching, so I put my hand out to flag it down.

The cab slows at the curbside, and I climb in the back.