Page 56 of Unsuitable

Heaviness weighs on my body. The heat and song and motion of the car—and if I’m being honest, the scent of Kas—are lulling me to sleep, and I don’t bother to fight it.

“Thank you,” I murmur to him.

There’s a long pause.

I feel sleep start to claim me.

Then, I hear his softly spoken words just before everything goes black, “I’m the last person you should be thanking.”

Fifteen

Sheets are tangled around my legs. My mouth feels like the inside of a toilet. And my head is kicking a steady beat.

Groaning, I force my sticky eyes open. After a few blinks to clear them, my stare is met with a ceiling that doesn’t look like mine.

It’s not my ceiling.

Sharply turning my head, ignoring the pain it causes, I see that I’m not in my bedroom. It looks familiar, but I’m not sure…

Where in the hell am I?

I quickly sit up, my head going woozy. I press my hand to my head as panic makes my heart beat hard. Then, I realize that the bed I’m sitting in is the bed in one of the guest rooms at the Matis Estate.

What the hell am I doing here?

And then it all comes flooding back to me, like a bad movie.

Ah…fuck.

I saw Jesse yesterday, and he told me that he hated me. I press the heel of my hand to my chest, pushing against the pain that pierces it.

After Jesse, I found my way into a bar.

Got drunk. Cute Bartender. Drunk-dialing Kas. Him coming to the bar to get me. Putting me in his car. Falling asleep…

Why did he bring me here? Why didn’t he take me home? What time is it?

My eyes swing to the clock on the nightstand, catching on a glass of water sitting by it.

Seven thirty a.m.

As in, seven thirty a.m. on Sunday morning?

Shit!

Cece!

She’ll be worried sick. I didn’t call her, like I said I would, and I was out all night.

Ripping the bedsheet off me, I jump out of bed, looking for my bag, but it’s nowhere to be seen.

But I do see my dress from yesterday hanging over the back of the chair at the dressing table, and my shoes are on the floor by it.

I glance down at myself to find that I’m wearing a black Kasabian T-shirt that hits the backs of my thighs.

It must be Kas’s T-shirt.

That means he…