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I woke up with a pounding head and the taste of regret in my mouth. Groaning, I attempted to crack one eye open. I didn’t remember going to bed. I’d drunk a hell of a lot the night before. First beer, and when that didn’t turn off the hurt Violet caused, I’d grabbed the tequila off a table and started drinking straight from the bottle.
The sun was shining, making the ache in my head throb harder when the light hit my eye, and I clenched it shut again. I pressed my fists into my eyeballs and promised myself I would never drink tequila again.
A moan had me turning ice-cold. Holding my breath, I slowly dropped my hands and opened both eyes this time just as a soft body pressed against my side. A hand stroked over my bare chest—when the fuck had I taken off my shirt?—and I saw a blond head.
A blond head that wasn’t Violet’s.
Swallowing a wave of nausea as it tried to choke me, I took stock of the rest of my body. My pants were on, but unbuttoned. Thankfully, my cock was still in my boxer briefs.
Blinking a few times to get the sleep out of my eyes, I looked down at the girl who was half on top of me. I knew that hair, that face with the makeup still perfectly in place, and realized I was beyond fucked.
Megan.
She was in her bra and panties, her hair a tangled mess spread over my chest.
“No.” I groaned out a curse and pushed her off me.
But we weren’t in a bed. I must have passed out on the couch in the sitting room, and she went crashing to the floor with a yelp. I jumped to my feet, ignoring the pain trying to slice my brain in half and hastily looked for my shirt.
What I found was one of Megan’s friends standing at the end of the couch, snapping picture after picture. “Look at that, Luca,” she said with a sly grin. “I’ve already got two hundred likes on some of these pictures I posted of you two lovebirds.”
I was going to puke.
If Violet saw those pictures, I was dead. She wouldn’t even get the chance to annihilate me with her anger because I knew her dad would end me before I was able to tell her what really
happened.
Pounding on the door made me groan in agony until I heard the voice from the hallway. “Open the fucking door, boys!” Dad roared.
Scratch that. My dad was going to kill me before Uncle Shane got the chance.
Lyric came out from one of the bedrooms, freshly showered and completely dressed. He ran a towel over his wet hair as he walked calmly to the door and opened it for Dad.
“Morning,” he greeted the raging bull on the other side. “You’re a bit late to the party, but there might be some beer left in the keg.”
Dad clenched his jaw, his eyes murky brown as he glared at my twin. But to my surprise, he didn’t say anything to Lyric as he pushed past him and stormed toward me. “Get your shit and let’s go before you completely fuck up your life.” His angry gaze turned to Megan, who was still sitting on the floor. “And you. Stay the fuck away from my kid, or I promise you will regret it.”
Without giving her time to reply, he stomped back to the door and grabbed a fistful of Lyric’s shirt. “You will go straight home and apologize to your mom. On your fucking knees if you have to. Do you hear me?”
“Yeah, Dad,” he said with a resigned sigh. “To be fair, though, I didn’t know about the surprise party until Violet called me and Lucy let me have it.”
Wait.
A surprise party?
“Sometimes, you boys are idiots, you know that?” He released Lyric then turned his cold gaze back to me. “You’re still standing there? Get your ass in gear, boy!”
His roar set me in action. I grabbed my shirt that was thankfully on the coffee table and pulled it on. I was still buttoning it up as I ran after him and barely made it in time to get on the elevator, glad I’d fallen asleep with my shoes on. The elevator ride down was one of the worst experiences I’d ever had, and I fought against my gag reflex the entire way.
Once the doors opened, I knew I wasn’t going to make it to the vehicle without puking. Seeing a trash can, I made a run for it and was just in time to empty my stomach into it before it landed on the lobby floor. I puked until I was dry heaving, the whole time Dad standing there glaring down at me unsympathetically.
“You done?” he growled when I lifted my head.
“Yeah,” I muttered.
“Then let’s go.” I followed him outside, where his SUV was still parked, waiting.
“How mad is she?” I asked when he started driving toward Santa Monica.
