Emmett’s hands all over me. His mouth on my neck, trailing down my body. The memories go dark after he presses his lips to my hip bones, starting to slip my panties off.
I lean closer to the mirror, taking it all in, and then I see it.My neck.I climb onto the vanity, getting as close as I can, confirming my deepest fear has been brought to life.
A dark, unmistakable bruise placed on my neck, just above my collarbone.
“Fuck me,” I hiss, rubbing the mark as if that will magically erase it from my skin.
I climb down and blow out a shaky breath, pacing the tiny bathroom. Squeezing my eyes shut as tight as I can, I try to hold back the tears threatening to spill out.
My head throbs, a cruel reminder of my reckless decisions lately.
After a few more laps, I gather my wits and tiptoe out of the bathroom, picking up my clothes off the floor and sneaking to the bedroom door.
It hadn’t even crossed my mind to check if he was still in the bed before I ran into the bathroom. My hand grips the doorknob as I look behind me at the rumpled blankets.
The pressure in my chest dissipates when my eyes settle on the empty bed.
Maybe he was having some regrets, too and wanted to spare us both from the awkward morning-after-conversation.
The hallway is clear and quiet, but I hesitate outside my bedroom door when I hear voices carrying up the stairs from the front porch. I lean toward the sound, taking extra caution not to be seen.
They’re not speaking loudly enough for me to make out their words, but I’d know Wesley’s warm, deep voice anywhere.
I risk leaning just a little bit closer right as the screen door is yanked open.
Emmett steps over the threshold and freezes when his eyes land on me. He scans me up and down, up and down, eyes pausing on his shirt hanging loosely on my body before meeting my face again.
He smirks, his perfect dimple making an appearance, and I can’t fight the blush that blooms across my cheeks.
I am weak.
He takes the steps two at a time, stopping in front of me before I can casually slip into my room. My hand still tightly grips the doorknob.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, leaning into the doorframe.
I let out a humorless chuckle, rolling my lips between my teeth. “Like my brain has been put through a wood chipper.”
The thought alone makes my head throb with a vengeance.
“I figured.” He fiddles with a lone boot in his hands and my brows pinch.
“What’s with the boot?”
His eyes hold mine like he’s searching for something, and he deflates when he doesn’t find it.
“You don’t remember.” He says it like it’s a statement, not a question.
I shake my head. “Not everything. I remember you…kissing me.” I hesitate, looking at him for any hint of how he’s feeling, but he’s unreadable. “Then it gets a little muddled after you…pulled down my underwear.”
He nods, rotating the boot in his hands. “Well, that’s most of it, actually—except I never fully took them off. You, um—” He runs his hand through his tousled hair before gesturing to the boot. “You got sick.”
I glance down and my stomach rolls as the dots finally connect.
“I amsosorry. I’ll buy you a new pair—an even better pair, I promise.”
“You already apologized last night. It’s not a big deal, just a boot.”
“Well, I’m double sorry. About everything. I was a wreck last night.” My words trail off at the end. I’m relieved that we didn’t actually have sex, but I’m still not sure whether it meant anything to him or if he just saw me as an easy hook up.
