Page 27

Hovering at the side of the toilet, I take a few deep breaths when the door to the bathroom opens.

I have nothing on apart from my black thong. In my drunken haze, I forgot I wasn’t home and passed up nightwear. Plus, I never unpack my suitcase when I go away, and this trip is no different.

At the last minute, I slam my arm across my breasts, which does fuck all since I’m a DD cup, and bring my knees up in front of me. “Who is it?”

Please,pleasebe Luna or Felicity.

The door opens further, and a bare foot appears. It’s too big and male for it to be them.

“I’m naked...a-and sick!” I shout.

He steps into the room wearing only dark gray athletic shorts, number eighty-eight stamped above his right knee in white.

Holy hell, he’s beautiful.

I look terrible. My messy bun is out of control.

“Get out!”

He stands there wearing a smug smirk, looking me straight in the eyes, not once gazing down my body.

“I’m naked!”

“I can see that, Princess.”

“Stop calling me Princess!” I exclaim and then wince at the pain throbbing through my head.

Reaching over, he pulls the overhead chain to the old-fashioned toilet and shuts the lid before turning to walk out of the bathroom.

“Where are you going?” I ask, my boobs still covered by my arm.

Returning a few moments later, he hands me a glass of water and then a T-shirt. I set the water down to free up my only hand and snatch the shirt.

Wait, this isn’t mine.

Holding it by the collar, I twist it around in my hand. It's crumpled, but when I see “J,” I throw it back at him.

“I’d rather show you my tits than wear your name again.”

“All in good time.” He chuckles and walks out of the doorway. “I’ve left some Tylenol on the nightstand. I suggest you take them.”

The door to my bedroom shuts with a soft click, and I drop my arm and slowly rise to my feet.

I look like hell as I brush my teeth for the second time tonight and then pad into the bedroom and crawl into bed, swallowing the two pills and cursing the shirt on the floor.

Light streamsin through the pink curtains, and I stir, my head pounding but no doubt less, thanks to the Tylenol.

At least he has one kind bone in his body.

Voices filter from downstairs when I reach over and check my phone.

Shit, shit, SHIT. It's past ten fucking a.m.!

But wait, where the fuck is my suitcase? It was on the trunk at the foot of my bed last night…

He didn’t.

Racing over to the dresser I know I didn’t fill, I pull each drawer open to find nothing in there. Same with the closet.