“Fuck,” he snarls, clamping those dark eyes shut. He then drops his face into the crook of my neck as his hips shudder, convulsing once…twice…three times against mine.
Fuck, indeed. Exhausted and sated, I melt into a puddle on the bedspread beneath me, more content than I’ve felt in a really long time. Or at least since January, which was when I last had sex. Was it only eight months ago? It feels more like years. God, I needed this.
Neither one of us says another word as he pulls out—disentangling himself from my jelly-like limbs—discards the condom, and then flops onto the pillow beside me, exhaling a heavy but satisfied breath. I consider getting up and removing myself from the room for all of five seconds, then decide I’mtoo drunk (and definitely way too blind) to entertain the notion of stumbling home at this hour, even if it means doing the walk of shame in the morning. Deciding that’s Tomorrow Lexi’s problem, I let my eyes drift closed and fall into the sweet embrace of sleep…
Only a few minutes seem to pass before a buzzing against my thigh is wrenching my eyes open again. Light floods in through a window to my right, and I wince as my head throbs relentlessly, each beat of pain keeping in perfect time with my pulse.
Pushing a tangled mess of hair off my face, I press the heels of my hands into my eye sockets, and reach for my phone, tugging it free from the hidden pocket Andie (using her superhuman sewing skills) graciously sewn into my skirt, which now sits crooked on my waist. I blink the sleep from my eyes to find Ronnie’s name flashing almost aggressively across the screen.
I swipe to answer and bring the device to my ear.
“Hello?” I barely recognize my voice when I speak. My throat is raw and dry, as if I’ve been gargling sand…or a whole lot of dick. My memory of last night is so spotty, it honestly could be either.
“Lex?” I yank the phone away from my face, flinching at the high-pitched screech emitting from my best friend that seems intense enough to crack glass. “Where thehellare you? I’ve been calling you for hours.”
“Sorry.” A yawn swells in my chest before I can get the full word out. “I was sleeping. What time is it?”
“Nearly ten,” she answers, her tone scolding. “Where’d you run off to last night? I would’ve sworn I saw you disappear with Damian Navarro, but I know you would sooner huff glue than go anywhere with that unapologetic bag of dicks.”
All the blood drains from my face as I’m struck by a chill and a sense of bone-deep dread. For the first time since waking, I take stock of my surroundings, finally seeing them a bit more clearly without the bleariness of alcohol adding an extra layer of obscurity to my vision and severely impacting my judgment. It takes Ronnie repeating my name several times for me to snap out of my stupor and grasp what in the drunken hell I’ve done.
Bracing myself, I roll over and risk a reluctant glance at the now slightly less blurry face of my one-night stand, praying to any god that will listen that it be anyone buthim…before realizing almost immediately that there is no god. Or at least none who are on Team Lexi.
“Fuck my life,” I breathe into the phone as I stare in horror at the fuckboy who ruined my freshman year where he sleeps soundly beside me.
Año nuevo, vida nueva - New year, new life
Translation: New year, new me…or maybe not.
My eyes blink open, my vision bleary as I try to pull the room around me into focus. The ceiling spins in protest, the whirling movement churning my stomach, threatening to bring up whatever concoction of spirits that Yesterday Damian thought wise to drink last night.
Christ, I really hate hangovers.
For a long moment, I don’t move—partially because I’m hoping I’ll fall back asleep, but mostly out of fear I might end up vomiting all over the 1020 thread count. Not that I particularly give a damn about bed sheets. I can always buy more. But buying more means getting up, and right now, all I want is to stay horizontal.
“Fuck my life,” a voice whispers beside me.
Oh. I’m not alone. Interesting. I guess I’m experiencing a bit of sex amnesia this morning.
Curious about the identity of my guest, I turn my head, taking in the half-naked blonde lying on the other side of my mattress, unable to keep my gaze from straying down to her exposed chest. Goosebumps pimple her bare breasts, and her nipples are erect, not unlike my cock, which immediately tents the blanket. She clutches an older model iPhone to her ear and is staring at me like I’m the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come and I’ve just told her Tiny Tim is dead. Mascara is smeared under her eyes, and a slightly frizzy golden lock sticks to her cheek, her hair bedraggled—but by no means unattractive—from a night of heavy drinking…or fucking. Based on my own state of undress and the headache currently splitting my skull in half, I’m guessing we partook of both.
“Not quite the reaction I’m used to,” I murmur, propping myself up on one elbow to get a better look at her, my queasiness and desire to sleep for the next several hours quelled by the rush of horniness sweeping through me. She’s hot. Nice hair, long legs, stunning eyes. Basically everything I look for in a woman. Not that I’m exactly picky. Anything with female anatomy is my type.
“I need to call you back,” she grumbles into her phone before sliding off the mattress and jumping to her feet like she would rather be anywhere else on the planet than here in bed with me.
I can’t help the frown that takes shape on my lips. “Leaving so soon?”
Ignoring me, she scoops a skimpy black top and bra off the floor near the foot of the bed, hastily putting on both and straightening her sexy pleated red skirt, the hem of which barely brushes the middle of her thighs. I don’t tell her that her shirt is on backward; something tells me she wouldn’t take too kindly to me pointing it out.
Once she’s dressed, she glances around for a moment, panic streaking her face, and I follow her wandering gaze, curious what has her so riled up. As the seconds tick by, she looks more and more flustered, and it’s only when I spot the panties dangling off the edge of the bed that I realize what she’s searching for.
Sitting up, I reach over and gently pinch the lacy fabric between two of my fingers.
“Looking for these?” I ask, flashing her a coquettish grin.
A crimson blush stains her cheeks that would be positively adorable if she didn’t look like she was going to kill me. Rushing forward, she snatches the underwear from my grasp, clumsily stepping into them and then adjusting them under that sexy short skirt. Although it’s brief, I’m awarded an enticing glimpse at what’s underneath, and I berate my brain for not remembering the events of last night in detail.
Avoiding my gaze, my taciturn guest steps into a pair of red heels, then flings her hair up into a messy bun before finally deigning to look at me. Her expression is sullen. Unimpressed, almost, which can’t be right. I am nothing if not impressive.
