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Carla noticed then she was lying down. She sat up quickly and was hit with another powerful dizzy spell.

“Oh, shit!” She squeezed her temples, and Lennox crouched in front of her.

“You should stay still and give your hangover time to wear off.”

“This is no hangover. My head feels like it’s about to split apart. I’ve never felt anything like this, and…” She lifted her eyes, swept them across a bedroom, then glanced down at herself.

Naked.

“What the fuck!” Scrambling, Carla grabbed the sheets and pulled them up to cover herself.

Lennox tilted his head to the side. “Seriously?”

“Where the fuck are my clothes, Lennox, and whose house is this?!”

“Calm down.”

“I will not calm down. Are you kidding me?”

Lennox took in a deep breath. “You’re at my home. This is my bedroom. There’s no need for you to be so frazzled. You’re safe here.”

Another titanic wave of pain filtered through Carla’s head, and she dropped her head into her fingers and rubbed.

“Uuuugh, whatever this is, is nasty!”

“I’m trying to give you something to make it better.”

Her eyes shot up at him, holding a steady glare on him.

“Where are my clothes, Lennox?”

His nostrils flared, and anger settled in his eyes. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Excuse me?”

“You can barely stand.”

“And why can’t I? You don’t expect me to believe this was from liquor? I didn’t have that damn much, and, and…” Her thoughts ran through the previous night. The last thing she remembered was smoking a joint outside with Lennox. Her glare was back. “What was in that joint, Lennox?”

Lennox left the room.

“Lennox!” Carla’s heartbeat raced as questions bombarded her. Why was she in his house? Why the hell was she naked? Why didn’t she remember anything after that joint?

He returned with her red dress and tossed it at her face. Carla snatched it off and shoved it over her head, pulling it down her body. Jumping to her feet, she pushed past him, hurrying into the next room.

It was the living room. It spun, and she stumbled, her eyes landing on her red and black clutch on a nearby table. Marching over to the piece, she snatched it up, opened and fumbled through it, looking for her phone and wallet.

“What are you doing?”

“Why am I naked in your house, Lennox?”

She found her phone and pulled it out. One bar left. Ten missed calls—fourteen text messages.

“Why do you think?”

She twirled around, and that was the wrong move. Hit with another dizzy spell, Carla squatted, then sat on the floor.

“My God, my God, what is this?”