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“You came for me,” I whisper.

“Of course, baby.”

“Harmony gave me lots of yummy drinks. Did she leave?” I ask.

“She did. How many yummy drinks did she give you?” he asks.

“Three? Maybe four? I can’t remember exactly.” I snuggle deeper into him, completely confident.

“Sounds about right. Did you have fun?” He steps outside.

“Yes, are we going in your car?” I ask.

“No. I think we should walk.” He looks at me.

I lift my head. “Aren’t you going to get tired of holding me?”

“No, not at all. But especially the way I do it,” he grins.

“What do you mean?”

“Close your eyes. We are going to walk through the shadows,” he says mysteriously.

Huh? My drunk brain can’t keep up. So I stupidly keep my eyes open. I snap them shut when the world blurs, but it’s too late.

He glides to a stop outside the apartment building. I push desperately on his chest. When he releases me, I bend over with my hands on my knees. I take a few deep breaths.

On the third breath, I promptly threw up all over his shoes.

Sometime after that and many apologies later, I passed out. I will never know whether it was from embarrassment or still having too much alcohol in my system.

But that was nothing compared to the humiliation of what I later learned I did.

Chapter Thirteen

Serenity

My head is pounding. I spread my hands, feeling the soft bed I am on. What happened? A fog is settled around my memories. I remember drinking with Harmony and her mate. I told them things that I don’t talk about. Shit, I spoke of things that I haven’t told anyone.

I notice that my pants are gone. I shoot up and look down at what I am wearing. I press a hand to my throbbing head as I notice a black dress shirt covering me, down to my knees. The cuffs engulf my hands. What the hell?

I look around the room to see my scattered clothes all over the floor. Wait? This isn’t my room. This room is all dark and manly. The sheets on the giant bed are black and gray. I’m in Ryker’s room. I can see the living room over the balcony. I faceplant into my hands.

“I didn’t take your clothes off,” Ryker’s humorous voice floats over to me.

I peek through my fingers at him. “You didn’t?”

“No, you did it yourself.”

I bring my hands down to my lap and twist them in the fabric. Confusion floods through me. “I did?”

“I carried you up here after the incident outside. You passed out. I brought you into the bathroom, cleaned up, and you woke up. You stripped. I gave you a shirt to wear, and you climbed into my bed,” he says and sits on the edge of the bed. “I slept in your room.”

“I’m so embarrassed,” I whisper as the memories come back, fast and furious. “Did I dance?” I choke.

“You did do some of that. It was cute,” he chuckles.

“Cute? I’m a horrible dancer,” I say, horrified. I don’t dance, ever. I can’t believe I did it in front of Ryker. Never will I drink again.