Page 19 of Hotshot

Hank.

Good. And I’d met him at the bar. No, in the parking lot. He’d had a proposition. I’d followed him upstairs and he’d given me a water bottle, and?—

Oh, fuck. I thinkIpropositioned him.

Ew.

I was a lowly, gross worm. The worst of the worst.

“How are you feeling?” Hank asked, joining me in the room a few minutes later.

He poured water into the coffeemaker on the dresser and fussed with the complimentary cups, glancing over at me expectantly.

“Uh, bad. Very bad,” I admitted, rubbing my nape as I finally met his gaze. “I don’t know how to apologize.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners. “We’ve all been there a time or two.”

“Not me. Not like that. I almost feel like I was drugged or?—”

“I didnotdrug you,” he interrupted sharply.

I held up a hand, nodding slightly to preserve the integrity of my gray matter. “I know. I know. Unfortunately, it’s all coming back to me, and I remember almost everything. I don’t think embarrassed is a strong enough word.”

Hank’s lips twitched with humor. “You were kind of funny.”

“Doubtful. Did you hold my hair while I…” I couldn’t finish that sentence. It was too mortifying.

He nodded.

Oh. My. God.

“Do you take sugar or cream in your coffee?” Hank asked as if this wasn’t a weird-ass way to start the day.

“Just black is good.”

“Here you go.”

I thanked him for the coffee and sat on the edge of the mattress, briefly thinking it was inappropriate to sit on someone’s bed uninvited. But maybe the rules changed if you’d staged an unintentional takeover. I winced at the lumpy pillow and the thin blanket strewn over the nearby sofa. He’d probably slept with his long legs flung over the armrest. Poor bastard.

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I’ll pay for your room and?—”

Hank sat at the desk chair, scooting it to face me. “That’s not necessary.”

“I took your bed,” I scoffed, cradling the cup in my hands like a wounded bird. I didn’t know a nice way to ask, but I had to know. “I see that you slept on the sofa, but…did we do anything?”

He narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“You’re going to make me say it,” I grumbled, sipping a fortifying gulp of coffee before blurting, “Did we…you know?”

Hank pursed his lips in amusement. “No, we did not.”

“Right. I didn’t think so,” I bluffed. “I have another embarrassing question.”

He made a flourishing gesture. “Please continue.”

“Did I…”Ugh, this was even more painful. “Did I come on to you?”

“Yes.”