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“I hadn’t noticed it was there.”

I laugh and catch the slight lift of her lips, too.

“You were never a one-night stand to me, Katherine.”

Her brows shoot to her hairline. “I hate that name even more.”

“I don’t.”

She shakes her head and looks up into the now fully darkened sky, clearly not wanting to make eye contact. “You had your chance, and you blew it. Then you set it alight when you hooked up with that brunette three weeks ago.”

“Here’s my dilemma. Whatever I tell you happened, you won’t believe. You’ll choose your fictional version of events. Because you’re a spoiled brat like that.”

I probably shouldn’t have added the last bit. Shit.

She sucks on her teeth and looks at me, anger blazing in her eyes.

Fuck me, she’s hot like this.

“Then why in the world would you want to sleep with a spoiled brat?”

With my hand still on her hip, I pull her toward me. It’s only a couple of inches, but our thighs are almost touching. Leaning down to whisper in the shell of her ear, I decide to give it to her straight. I’m done playing games. “Because you aren’t a brat. Because you aren’t always right, and you know you aren’t. Because you know, deep down, I didn’t sleep with the redhead that night, and I didn’t hook up with the brunette either. Why? Because you invade my thoughts and drive me to the point ofinsanity. I have to have you, Princess. Trouble is, once I do, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop. There’s not a chance in hell you’d be a one-night stand—I’ve been fucking you in my dreams since the day you pulled on my jersey and sat yourself across my lap.”

CHAPTER NINE

KATE

Istumble into my bedroom and head straight for the en suite.

I need to wash my face or splash myself with cold water or something.

Jesus fuckingChrist,what was that down there?

I squeeze my thighs together as I riffle through my cosmetic bag and find my makeup remover and a cloth.

Furiously, I scrub at my face. I feel woozy and lightheaded, but I can’t tell if it’s in response to the alcohol or the way Jensen Jones just looked at me.

I’ve been fucking you in my dreams since the day you pulled on my jersey and sat yourself across my lap.

My thighs squeeze harder of their own volition, and heat pools in response.

He’s a fuckboy, and he’s trying to get under your skin.

I set the cloth to the side and grab my moisturizer, knocking my toothbrush over in the process, and it rattles around the sink. Smearing some onto my face in a haphazard fashion, I grab my birth control and pop a pill. Drunk or not, I never forget.

I grab my toothbrush from the sink and squirt an unnecessary amount of toothpaste across it. “Fucking dickhead,” I mumble to myself.

I’m aware I’m swaying as I reach my bed and pull back the covers.

Tomorrow is going to be top-notch. Avoiding Jensen and trying not to puke.

It’s stilldark outside when I wake and sit bolt upright in bed. Slamming my hand over my mouth, a wave of nausea hits me in the gut.

I’m going to puke.

Making it to the toilet just in time, I lift the lid and spill my guts.

Note to self: cocktails, shots, and wine will make you sick.