Page 19

Chapter nineteen

Maddox

T he loud, obnoxious sound of snoring wakes me. I have a headache, which means I made some piss-poor decisions last night. My brain is foggy and not firing on all cylinders yet as I try to piece together what happened. Squeezing my eyes shut tighter, I fight the urge to open them. I vaguely recall hooking up, or maybe it’s the dull throb of pain between my legs from being railed in a shower. Fuck. It’s all coming back to me. I didn’t just hook up with him in the shower; I followed him home like a lost little dog. Ugh. I hate myself right now. What else did I do? I try to replay the night in my head, but in every flash of memory, the man remains a mystery, as if my subconscious is taunting me by withholding the information. I could just open my eyes, I remind myself.

There was a dead body and the mafia—wait, was that a dream? No. It really happened. The memory of the gunshot replays in my mind. Once again, the man’s face is elusive. What happened before the gunshot? I ask myself, trying to focus on remembering. I’m about to give up when it crashes back. Before the gunshot, he told me to scream so the whole city could hear him fucking me. Damn. Two hook-ups in one night. I’m actually quite proud of myself. A smile slips across my lips, and I open my eyes. I want to see the man I fucked not once, but twice.

Holy–fucking–shit! Colt, aka Level-Up-Dom, is laying facing me, snoring away peacefully, and goddamn it, my hand is trapped beneath him. I try to slip my arm out slowly to cover my mouth so I don’t scream, but the movement causes him to stir. I hold my breath, swallowing my excited squeal as if it was never anything more than an obsessive thought. The man of my dreams cannot see me like this. I probably look like a troll, and not the adorable singing kind. Oh my god. I need to bang and dash.

This is the ‘oh shit’ I want to chew my fucking arm off and run away moment. Guilt hits me full force right in the gut, immediately sending a wave of nausea through it. Not only am I an absolute wreck, I seriously thought I was with his brother. Then I let him take me back to his place to do it again, and I still haven’t told him, “Hey, by the way, I’m so into you the reason you thought I felt familiar is because I’m HexXdoll.”

I’m going to have to yank my arm off like I’m ripping a Band-Aid. It’ll have to be fast. It’s the only way I can escape. I gulp, determined to make it out of here without him seeing me. On the count of three, I tell myself, silently counting. When I get to three, I yank my arm hard and fast. He sucks in mid-snore, which nearly has me erupting in giggles. Scoot by scoot, I move myself to the edge of the bed, easing out of it. The room spins.

There’s no way I can squeeze myself into my clothes from last night. I’m butt-ass naked. Great. I’m glad past me had a blast, but present me is not loving the circumstances we left ourself to work with. I should ground my ass. Where are your fucking clothes? I ask myself, tiptoeing around the room in search of them. I spot my skirt in a heap on the floor, silently swearing because my shirt and bra are in the bathroom. Across the room, Colt is still snoring. I move quickly to retrieve my clothes, using the mirror to squeeze back into my corset bra, then stop by his closet to grab a plain white T-shirt folded neatly on a shelf. I toss it over my head, yanking my arms in. It’s a comfortable fit—not too tight, but not saggy and baggy either.

I sneak stealthily back into the room, pulling my leather skirt on and balling my tights up with my shirt. I don’t see my underwear, and the thought of leaving it behind is kind of sexy, so I scoop up my heels by the straps. My bag is by the door. I grab it as I pass by and then skitter quiet as a mouse to the front door. For a moment, I’m tempted to go exploring, but that idea is quickly shut down by the part of my brain with common sense.

At the front door, I twist the handle open, closing it silently, all the while praying the elevator doesn’t need a code or there’s a staircase I can take. Lucky me, the elevator doesn’t work without a code—but sarcastic yay—the door to the stairs is unlocked. It’s like the universe wants to see me out of breath or tripping on the stairs while I do the walk of shame. It’s Sunday morning in RiNo. I won’t be the only person out doing the walk. It’s only a few blocks. By the time a rideshare arrives, I can be most of the way home. My feet are killing me, but there’s no way I’m walking public stairs or the concrete abyss covered in god-only-knows-what. The heels go back on, and my punishment begins. I take a deep breath, push open the door, and descend the stairs.

By the time I reach the bottom, walking barefoot isn’t sounding so bad. I’m not desperate yet, though. As much as I want to give in, I persevere, finding the street exit and, at this point, not giving a single fuck if I set off any kind of alarm. The warm sunshine hits my face as I emerge onto the street, and I scrunch my eyes closed. It’s so fucking bright. I need to find my sunglasses. Squinting, I open my bag, snag my glasses, and get the bright idea to toss my clothes into the bag.

The sunglasses make the outside tolerable. I hold my head high and set off down the block, owning my walk of shame, because I fucked Level-Up-Dom, not once but twice, and I can’t wait to tell my friends all about it. I whip out my phone when I’m a block from home. There’s a shit ton of messages in the group chat. I swipe it open, ignoring them all, and type:

Maddox: Proof of life, check-in. OMG we need to meet for breakfast ASAP. Come pick me up and I’ll pay.