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If I couldn’t remember shit, I would have been too drunk to fuck someone, wouldn’t I? Sweat beaded on my forehead, not from a hangover but from the sheer panic that was now setting in at the thought of having cheated on Scottie. I didn’t remember any man last night, though.
Where were my clothes? I looked around the room. They lay on a dark blue accent chair to the right against the wall. Ignoring my pounding head, I leaped out of bed. As I dressed, I tried to piece together any clues about last night’s events. Expensive-looking paintings hung on the wall. Whoever I’d gone home with last night was loaded. That much was obvious.
Who the fuck was he? Had he slipped something into my drink?
The door creaked open, and I stiffened, tugging my shirt over my head. A figure with broad shoulders entered the room, silhouetted by the sunlight.
“You’re up.”
I sucked in a deep breath, clutching at the shirt half-draped over my torso. “Mr. Coleman?”
He winced and gave me a wry smile. “I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to call me Mr. Coleman after last night. My name is Jarrod.”
A shudder rippled down my spine, and bile rose in my throat.
“The bathroom’s through there.”
I hurried toward the door he indicated, stumbling slightly in my haste. I barely made it to the toilet before I spilled my guts. Fuck. I felt like all the liquid in my body ended up in the toilet. Sweat washed over me as I finally stood upright again. I flushed the toilet and rinsed my mouth, avoiding a second glance at my disheveled hair and bloodshot eyes in the mirror.
A chill ran down my spine as the severity of the situation settled in. Not only had I gone off with another man, but my boss. How the hell had that happened?
“You stupid fuck.” The urge to punch the mirror was strong, but I restrained myself by gripping the porcelain sink, bending over, and taking several deep breaths.
I’m gonna lose Scottie.
And my job.
Like a drowning man, I tried to search for a lifeboat. I would have to tell Scottie the truth. The old me wanted to keep it a secret. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, but I couldn’t do that to him. If I had to grovel, I would for him not to leave me.
I could always find another job, but there would never be another Scottie.
Squaring my shoulders, I walked back into the bedroom and found Jarrod straightening the bed. He glanced up, his brows knitted. “You okay? Aspirin’s in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom.”
Speechless, I stared at Jarrod, hoping for a spark of attraction or something to explain what I had been doing in his bed. Nothing. He wasn’t my type. Had drunk Griff not cared about any of that?
I willed myself to remember, but nothing. Only one way to find out.
“Did we fuck last night?”
Jarrod, who had leaned over the bed to fix the corner of the sheet, lost his balance and fell onto the mattress. He gaped at me, a strangled sound coming out of him.
“Well, did we?”
He rose to his feet. “You think… we had sex last night?”
“What am I supposed to think? I woke up in your bed, almost naked.”
Jarrod laughed. It started as a giggle, then turned into full-blown, belly-shaking laughter. He doubled over, clutching his stomach, tears streaming down his face.
“I…I can’t.” He gasped for breath and wiped his tear-stained face. “You think…you and I…” He wheezed, trying to talk at the same time.
“Is that a no?” I asked. Shit, why did he have to laugh so much? Didn’t he realize how much this meant to me?
“Man, I’m not gay, though I’m guessing now that you are. I never got that vibe from you.”
I scowled. “Then what was I doing in your bed? And naked.”
“I slept in the guest room. It has a lot of crap inside, so I thought you’d feel more comfortable sleeping here.”
