The man she had slept with was going to be in her kitchen.
She’d had sex with Rylan.
Sex!
With Ry!
She could feel the mortification flushing her face red.
After another searching frown, he nodded and left her alone.
She could have sworn she heard him laugh. Which was fine. She had to look a wreck after a night of...
Drinking?
She’d been drinking with Alyssa, she remembered that much. And Davenport’s, she remembered going to Davenport’s. And dancing. There was dancing. More drinking. People from work. Others she’d met in the last few weeks.
Sex in a glass . . . a bottle of water . . . then what?
Nothing. Her last memory was of Rylan leaning over the top of her with a bottle of water. She’d been standing in front of him, and then he’d pulled her against him when she swayed on her feet. Then they’d...
Sighing, she took a sip of warm coffee, the creamy sweetness coating her tongue. He’d made it exactly the way she liked, and the temperature was perfect for gulping. No sipping right now. She needed a shot of caffeine to jumpstart her brain.
After a few more mouthfuls, Mazey allowed herself to contemplate the situation.
She’d had sex with Rylan.
It wasn’t the end of the world. He was hot, she liked him,andshe was a healthy woman in her thirties with needs. No shame in taking care of them. She had a vibrator to prove that.
Except she couldn’t even remember kissing him. And while she ached all over, there were no definite indicators of a night of rigorous sex. Yes, rigorous. Rylan wouldn’t have any other kind. She was sure of that.
What she wasn’t sure of was whether they’d actually had sex.
Could she have passed out on him?
Possible. She’d been trashed for sure. Alyssa had seen to that before and during their night at the bar.
So how did she determine if they’d slept together without asking him outright?
She couldn’t see how, and sitting here rolling it around her head over and over wasn’t going to get her any answers.
Tossing the quilt back, she discovered another dilemma. She had on a pair of panties and a tank top. There were no memories of putting them on either.
Just what was in those drinks Alyssa kept shoving in her hands?
She couldn’t put it off, no matter how much she wanted to burrow beneath the covers and hide. She had to get up—put on some clothes—and ask Rylan what had happened.
Easier said than done, but she was not going to allow the panic that was barely a kernel in her belly to grow. She’d own whatever it was she’d—they’d—done.
“Before you blow every brain cell not vaporized by the alcohol you consumed last night, nothing happened.”
Mazey turned to find Rylan casually leaning against the doorjamb in his underwear. His body on full display. “Huh?”
He tapped his temple with a finger. “I could see your brain whirling. We didn’t have sex, Mazey. I’m not in the habit of taking advantage of inebriated women.”
“Oh.” Was that relief or disappointment that filled her?
“You were, however, sick. It’s why I’m still here. I didn’t want to leave you alone in case you threw up again.”
