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“What? I didn’t even do anything wrong,” I protest, my voice aiming for indignant but winding up somewhere closer to petulant. “If anything, I was acting as a responsible chaperone, making sure our girl didn’t get devoured by those perverts.”

Elias’s smile is slow and lazy as he tugs me off balance, so I land against his chest before his lips claim mine in a possessive kiss that leaves me boneless. The man kisses like he plans to leave damage behind.

When he finally lets go, I’m still reeling, starbursts flickering behind my eyes.

Nate watches us from the bar. I see the faint uptick at the corner of his mouth, and I know I’m in trouble… the good kind.

“You did well tonight,” Nate says, his voice dark and teasing. “Now let’s see if we can keep that streak going.”

Knowing how much I like a challenge, especially when it comes to the two of them, I smirk and saunter deliberately into the bedroom, the weight of both their stares burning between my shoulder blades.

nineteen

Shower, Interrupted

My skull is pounding before I even open my eyes.

My mouth tastes like sandpaper, and my stomach is trying to eat itself. I groan and make a mental note to kill Trey for letting me drink enough alcohol to preserve a corpse.

I try to shift, and a pathetic little whimper slips out before I can stop it.

Yup. Bad idea.

I crack one eye open and realize this is not my bed.

For one thing, it’s way too soft. For another, the sheets don’t smell like lavender detergent and poor financial decisions. And the bed is huge, with black silk sheets and a tufted velvet headboard.

Where the hell am I?

Just then, pieces of last night start coming back. Trey handing me another drink earlier in the night. Dancing on the bar. Jace looking up at me like sin had personally invited him out for the evening.

Then Elias carrying me to bed. Nate tucking me in.

Fuck, what did I do?

Sitting up slowly, I discover I'm still wearing that little black dress, which now smells like tequila, sweat, and last night's questionable choices.

Great.

The one bright shining spot in this already fucked up day is the glass of water sitting on the nightstand. Whoever left it knew exactly what I’d need when I woke up, and for some reason that makes my chest ache more than the hangover does.

I grab it and drink half before my stomach threatens mutiny.

Once I'm sure I'm not going to be sick all over the carpet, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. The room tilts sharply, and I grab the mattress to steady myself.

“Okay,” I whisper to myself. “Okay, okay, okay.”

I stand slowly, my bare feet sinking into carpet so thick it feels illegal. Padding across the room with one hand trailing along the wall for balance, I find a door that looks promising. Pushing it open, the light clicks on automatically, and holy hell, apparently rich people don’t have bathrooms. They have spa resorts with toilets.

Marble counters. Rainfall shower. Mirrors that light up when I step inside. It's all a beautiful work of art that is ruined the moment I see my reflection. Mascara smeared beneath my eyes. Glitter stuck to my skin. Hair doing something that feels personally vindictive.

At this point I’m convinced that I’ve pissed someone off in a past life because how… just how?

On the counter sits a sealed toothbrush and a folded white T-shirt that is very obviously not mine, but I’m not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. I brush my teeth, peel myself out of the dress, and step beneath the hot spray of the shower.

For a few minutes, I just stand there and let the water wash away alcohol, glitter, and as much of last night’s embarrassment as possible. When I’m done, I pull on the T-shirt and head back into the bedroom.

I’ve delayed the inevitable long enough; time to find out which of these men owns the penthouse I woke up in.