Page 21 of Good Girl’s Guide to Love (Guide to Love #4)

ainsley

Daddy-O…

I was an active member of the “Free Britney” movement. She’s an icon. But I can promise you that I never, and I mean never, have woken up with Womanizer in my head.

Then again, I’ve never woke up with this kind of raging headache, either, so I guess two things can be true.

I can’t bear to open my eyes yet, so I keep them closed as I pull up the cooler-than-I-remember sheets. Also, when did my pillow become so supportive and somehow also soft? I’m not sure on either of those things, but I’m not going to complain.

The song refuses to leave my head as I do my best to fall back to sleep. I start to drift off again, but the lyrics aren’t leaving me. And now, they’re accompanied by images…

How was I opposed to karaoke before? This is amazing!

I mean, it helps that I know every word to this song, thanks to my obsession with it when I was twelve years old.

I even remember the dance moves I came up with for it.

Hip curls and fierce marches. Dropping it low, which I don’t know if I’ve ever done as an adult. But I am now, and I’m killing it.

Mia’s behind me being the best backup singer ever. But what’s really fueling this performance is that Linc can’t stop looking at me. It’s empowering. Like I’m putting on a show just for him.

Which is why I throw in a big booty roll for the end of this song. And if it makes Jonathan jealous, who for some reason is still freaking here, then oops, I did it again…

Oh fudge….

The dream is vivid. Too vivid. We’re at the bar from last night. I’m wearing the same sundress. Mia, Linc, and everyone else I just saw were also in the same outfits. But I couldn’t have sang karaoke. That’s a hard limit for me.

Not unless I was really, really drunk…

Jonathan.

Linc.

Fireball.

Karaoke.

Oh fudge is right…

I slowly open my eyes, scared to what I might see.

I don’t think I’m in my bed—nothing about this feels familiar—but I can’t tell where I am.

The room is dark—nearly pitch black except for the small sliver of light peeking through one of the drawn curtains.

I do my best to adjust my focus, but it’s hard, between the dark room and the hangover that is suddenly pounding in my head.

Okay, seriously, where am I? My mind is now racing, which is a bad combination with the jackhammer that’s currently going through my brain and my stomach that feels like it’s about to stage a riot.

Where am I? How did I get here? Am I being held captive by a morally gray man who doesn’t talk, only grunts, but is secretly in love with me?

Or worse…did I go home with Jonathan?

I don’t know why this is the first thing I think to do, but I pull the covers up, checking to see what I’m wearing.

I let out a sigh of relief to see that I’m wearing the same dress as last night.

And you know what, while I’m here and successfully hiding from the world, I’m just going to bury myself under said covers and think about what the heck happened last night.

Why did I drink? Why did I think that I was the kind of girl who could handle that? I can’t. I know who I am as a person, but apparently seeing my ex—and one sexy football player—is enough to make me forget that I’m not the person who does scary things.

Because scary things put you in a stranger’s bed and make you want to chew a bottle of aspirin.

As much as I’d like to stay buried under this blanket for, let’s say eternity, my bladder is telling me that possibility isn’t on the table.

I let out a groan as I sit up, doing my best to steady myself before going on this adventure.

My head is spinning, so I take a second and close my eyes to get my bearings.

Which is when I almost pee my pants.

“Hold on. Let me help you.”

“Ahhhh!”

I jump out of my skin, which because I have the balance of a toddler trying to walk for the first time, sends me falling back into the bed.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry.”

I register that it’s Linc’s voice, and I try and calm down my racing heart. When I sit back up and see his shirtless self walking toward me, I’m lightheaded all over again. And it has nothing to do with the alcohol.

Holy tattoos…

They’re everywhere. A full sleeve on his right arm. A large one on his chest that I can’t make out. But the one I can’t stop staring at is the one on his thigh, half covered by the tight shorts he apparently slept in.

Mia’s talked about slutty thigh tattoos before, and I always had to nod like I knew what she meant.

Now I know.

Oh boy, do I now know…

“Here,” he says as he sits next to me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you hadn’t seen me.”

I shake my head. “I…how…where?—”

My inability to form a sentence, combined with Linc holding me up, is reminiscent of our first meeting. Frankly, I don’t know which one is more embarrassing.

“You were pretty drunk,” he says. “I didn’t feel right about you going back to your apartment by yourself. And since Mia was going to be two floors up with Wyatt, doing God knows what, we all agreed it was best if you crashed here.”

“Oh,” I say, trying to piece together what happened last night. “Did…you…we…”

I don’t know what I’m trying to ask him, but he gives me a small smile and shakes his head.

“You passed out on the car ride here. I wanted to give you a T-shirt and shorts to sleep in, but you were out cold. I put you to bed and slept in the recliner in case you needed anything. Or, you know, to scare the hell out of you in the morning.”

“Thank you,” I say softly, hating that he needed to take care of me, but also kind of loving that he did. Also, how many ways can one man save me? “And I’m sorry you had to do that. I swear I didn’t think I was that drunk.”

This makes Linc laugh. “You weren’t. Until you were.”

“Touching you!”

This song is so fun! How did I forget this song was so fun! It’s going to become my go-to karaoke song, because I think this is my new favorite thing to do.

It helps that we’re singing this song with the whole gang, Linc and me and Mia and Wyatt and the other Fury football players that came out tonight. I’ve learned some of their names. But I don’t remember them. I also don’t remember how many drinks I’ve had.

But they were all delicious.

“Woo!” I scream into the microphone before we all exit the stage, smiles and laughs all around. “We’ll be here all night!”

That gets another round of applause from the audience as Linc takes my mic away.

Rude.

“Have you drank any water lately?”

I shrug as I walk back to the VIP area. Well, Linc basically carries me, but my feet are moving. “I did.”

His eyebrow goes up. “When was that?”

I look at my watch—I’m not wearing a watch—then back to him. “An hour ago.”

He laughs and flags down the waitress for a few bottles of water. “Let’s fix that.”

I cross my arms in a huff and push out my bottom lip. “I thought you were fun.”

He smiles and leans in. “I am. But I don’t like my girlfriend being dehydrated.”

This makes me smile. “I like being your girlfriend.”

“I do too, Ainsley. I do too.”

We fall into a comfortable silence—and I do my best to ignore the way the room is starting to spin—when I see a dust up happen just on the other side of the roped of area we’re sitting in.

“I just want to talk to her!”

I turn and see that Jonathan is trying to push past a bouncer standing at the front of the section.

Why can’t this man take a freaking hint?

“Ainsley! Please! Just talk to me!”

“Stay here,” Linc says as he steps up to the rope, Wyatt and a teammate of his…I think his name is Maddox…quickly following behind. “What the fuck is your problem, man?”

“My problem is you!” he yells. “I don’t know what the hell is going on here, but clearly this is fake. You don’t know her. You’re not dating her. You date supermodels and cleat chasers. Ainsley dates…well…not fucking roided-out football players!”

That’s it. I’m tired of Jonathan and his Jonathan-ness. I stand up, and only stumble a little, as I approach the fracas.

“Go away! I don’t want you here!”

Fracas…that’s a fun word…

“Get the hint, Jonathan. You don’t know me anymore! And I’m going to prove it.”

Before anyone can stop me, I grab the bottle of Fireball off the table that’s almost empty, tip it back, and polish it off. There was more in there than I thought, but I don’t care.

I’m the new Ainsley. Drunk Ainsley. Bad-girl Ainsley.

As I take down the last few sips of the bottle, I wipe my mouth off with the back of my hand. Jonathan’s jaw is hanging open, which is good. Because if it wasn’t then, it’s about to be.

I grab Linc in with my free hand, grabbing him by his T-shirt, and pull him in for a kiss. A big one. Sloppy. It’s probably not super-hot or sexy looking, but it feels good.

He feels good.

The kiss doesn’t last long, but when we pull away, I’m greeted by Linc’s mischievous smile. It makes me want to kiss him again. But I can’t. The plan that I developed two minutes ago to get Jonathan to leave me alone needs to continue.

“Here, hold this.”

I give Linc the empty bottle before I ungracefully climb over the rope.

“Ainsley! What are you doing?”

I don’t turn back to answer Jonathan, or anyone else who might be calling for me. Instead, I walk right up to Miguel, our lovely karaoke host who’s now my new best friend, and request a song.

“For you, girl? Anything.”

“Thanks!” I say, grabbing the microphone from his table as I walk on stage. I haven’t heard this song in years. But for some reason it seems fitting right now.

And Miguel even turns the lights to red for added effect.

“This is dedicated to my boyfriend!” I point to Linc, who’s waving to the crowd like he’s the grand marshal of a parade. Just then the sultry music begins to play, and my cue is up.

All right, Jonathan, you think I’m the same? That this is fake? Watch this…

“Take a good look at it…”

I feel my face turning red, but apparently not as red as the stage lights last night. “I did not…”

“Oh, you did. Not going to lie, it was pretty hot.”