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Instead, I give him a, “I need to get home. I’m happy for you, Harlan. Liv’s great. Don’t forget my invite to your wedding so I can RSVP.” His eyes flash with hurt, and right now, I simply can’t bring myself to care. Tomorrow, I’ll feel like the worst little sister in the world, but right now, I’m a woman caught up in feelings I never thought I’d have to deal with again. Would Harlan understand if I explained it? I doubt it. He’s a man. Any talk of feelings outside of sex makes them uncomfortable. Liv would understand, maybe I’ll talk to her. Or Björn, who is an exception in this case because while he’s a man, he’s my best friend and had a front row seat to the Ethan and Birdie shitshow. He’d get it. I check my watch, and kiss Harlan on the cheek. “I’ll speak to you later.”

“Birdie, come on,” he pleads. “I’m sorry. I know there’s more to this than me not including you in our engagement plans.”

I’m just on the right side of no more fucks left to give tonight to admit, “Yes. There is.”

“You can talk to me, Bird. Always.”

“I know,” I shrug. “I just don’t want to.”

I walk away, knowing I’ve hurt my brother and hating it, but I need someone who can give me perspective and Harlan isn’t that person. I mean, sure, his engagement is one giant trigger for me, but he doesn’t know that and he doesn’t need to. Pretty sure he wouldn’t understand either, so why bother? Which is why I ask his driver to take me to Björn’s bar. He’ll know what to say, even if I don’t like it. In which case I’m going to get sloppy drunk and no one can stop me.

Someone should have stopped me. My head feels like it’s about to explode and my stomach rolls when I make an attempt to move. My body feels like lead. God. I feel awful. Aside from that, two things become obvious — I’m not in my bed, this bed is too big and too hard to be mine and the sheets are too soft. There’s also a body next to me, radiating heat, and last I checked, I live alone. Glancing to my right, I take in the very male form, and even in my current state, I can admit it’s a nice form. My gaze moves up to where a long, muscular arm is thrown over a face, revealing only the bottom part. Angular jaw, light stubble, and lips… Ohhhh fuck, I know those lips. Ethan. Why am I in his bed? And what the hell happened last night? As if he can hear my rapid-fire thinking, Ethan stirs, grumbling something in his sleep. Without warning, he flings his arm, catching me off-guard, and knocks me in the face. I make a sound, and my knee-jerk reaction is to roll away from him. And land on the floor with a scream.

“What!” comes from Ethan, and I scramble to my feet. Since I took the sheet with me, Ethan is naked, sitting upright and looking around. His hair is an unholy mess, his body an unholy sculpture of muscle stacked on muscle, and yes, he has that Adonis V women go nuts for. He’s a cliche as far as the ideal male specimen goes. He just ticks all the fucking boxes, poor guy. His eyes land on me, and he frowns. “Bird?”

What to do, what to do? “Uh.” I give him an awkward wave with the hand holding the sheet to my chest, and when it falls, Ethan does a thorough once-over of my person. Considering we’re both hung over, it’s rather impressive. I’m too late to cover myself, but I bend and grab the sheet anyway, already feeling far more exposed than I’d like, especially to Ethan. “I’m, uh, going to shower,” I tell him, my voice scratchy. I also smell like a brewery, so it’s safe to assume I consumed a lot of alcohol last night. Well, a lot more alcohol, I was already tipsy when I got to Björn’s bar. Dashing to the bathroom, I slam the door, and close my eyes for a beat before daring to look at myself in the mirror. My hair looks like rat’s nest, and I’m pale, save for the red splotches around my neck and over my breasts. It’s at that moment that I feel the discomfort between my legs. Looking down, as if my vagina could speak and explain why it feels the way it does, I mutter a, “For fuck’s sake.” The feeling is familiar, of course. You don’t exactly forget how you feel after sex with a particular partner, one who is obviously still the biggest you’ve had. Ethan and I had sex last night. Rough sex apparently because wowzer, my vag is actually pretty damn sore. And it’s the kind of pain that becomes more insistent the moment you become aware of it. My mind tries to recall what exactly happened, but it’s bits and pieces that come back. I went to Björn’s bar, however, the memory of seeing Ethan there is just on the right side of hazy that I know it’s real. After that it’s a mishmash of memories, none of them boding well for yours truly. “Idiot.” I shake my head, drop the sheet, and step into the larger-than-required shower. I make the water as hot as I can tolerate, and stand under the shower head, my body warming, the tension seeping out along with my brain fog. The bathroom door opens, and I make no move to cover myself. I mean, it’s not an ideal situation, but I can’t rewind the clock and under the current circumstances, there’s no point adding to the awkwardness of it all with feigned modesty.

“You almost done?” Ethan asks. When I look to the side, I see him scratching his head. The one on his shoulders. The other one is, well, not exactly hanging limp between his legs. A good ol’ fashioned morning woody. He’s smirking when I look at his face. “Like what you see?”

Huffing, I rush through washing my hair and then my body, not caring that I’m going to smell like Ethan when I’m done. Sticking my arm out from behind the glass partition, I silently ask for a towel, which Ethan must guess because seconds later, there’s a terrycloth bath towel in my hands. However, rather than just give it to me, Ethan places it in my hand and pulls me out the shower, almost sending me to the floor. I yelp, finding myself chest-to-chest with Ethan. Kind of. He’s taller so we don’t exactly line up, but still. The only thing between us is a towel which isn’t yet wrapped around me. Craning my neck, I look up and my heart fumbles around in my ribcage, recognizing the look on Ethan’s face from memory. Eyes ablaze, jaw set, it’s the look of a man hell bent on taking what he wants. From me.

“We need to talk about last night,” he says, his voice gruff. His eyes search mine, and I pray to every deity in the Universe that he can’t see my uncertainty, my urge to protect myself and run, or the turmoil brewing inside me. Having him show up out of nowhere spooked me but how the hell did my determination to avoid him turn into me getting drunk and falling into bed with him? Was it for old time’s sake on my part? His part? Or was I just too inebriated to remember who’s bed I was getting into?

“I’d agree.” I lick my lips, and swallow. “But I don’t remember much. Do you?” It’s a small lie. The events of the night before are slowly creeping back in — and oh, what a disaster! — but I need to know what he remembers, and if he was as intoxicated as I think I was. “I mean, I know we…” I leave the statement hanging, unable to verbalize the word sex without having my mind dig for those particular details.

“Fucked,” Ethan finishes, his smirk back. “We fucked, Bird. You can say it.”

I blush, covertly rubbing my thighs together. Like a fucking school girl, my cheeks flame — I can feel the blood vessels expanding to bring blood to the surface of my skin just so Ethan knows I’m embarrassed. Thank the good Lord my body can’t give away my arousal like Ethan’s body does. Because hoo boy, I’m very aware of his erection on the other side of the towel. “Don’t worry, we both wanted it,” he adds, non-plussed. “You begged me, I begged you…it’s all good.”

I gasp. “It’s not all good, Ethan. We had sex after drinking a copious amount of alcohol,” I hiss. “There is nothing okay with that, and even worse, I can’t remember what…” Like a key opening a door, saying I can’t remember unlocks more recollections of the night before, even if it’s just moments. Before I go too far down that road, I step back, and clear my throat, wrapping the towel around my body. “Do you have something I can wear? I’m pretty sure my clothes from yesterday are destroyed.” I only know that because the image of Ethan tearing my clothes off is crystal clear. He definitely owes me a new outfit.

“I put a shirt, and some sweats on the bed,” he replies, his voice gentle. “Like old times.”

Gah! Why? Just why? I’m stepping around him before he can see my eyes welling with tears. This is why I never get trashed. I become emotional. Though, I did have sex with my ex last night when I had no idea how I really felt about his attempts to come back into my life. Talk about a messy situation. Wiping my eyes, I dress quickly — I might stop to smell Ethan’s clothes out of habit, I used to spend a lot of time in his clothes when we were dating — and only then do I hear noise coming from outside what I assume is the master bedroom. I open the door, trying to remain quiet, and listen. Two masculine voices echo down the long-ish hallway, but I can’t make them out. So I do what any sane, hungover woman would do. I investigate. Walking on the balls of my feet, I sneak down the hallway, and just about stumble like a newborn giraffe when I see Rowland in the kitchen, talking to Björn. The hell? Can this get any worse? Not too long ago Björn was saying Rowland and Ethan could burn in a dumpster fire for all he cared. Now he’s being all chummy with Rowland? What. Is. Going. On? Is this the twilight zone, or am I in hell? Is this what hell looks like? If so, I’m not a fan.

“Oh, you’re up,” Rowland chirps, grinning with a knowing glint in his eyes. So yes, I guess it could get worse. I just did the walk of shame without even realizing it. Björn turns from his perch on a barstool, and grins. He has the same knowing glint in his eyes. Asshole. “Hey, little Bird. Sleep well?”

Rowland snorts, and I flip them the bird, grumbling, “I need coffee.”

Rowland finds a coffee mug, and fills it, making it the way I like. Milk, two sugars. I accept it, and gently slide onto the seat beside Björn — they don’t need to know it’s not only my head that’s paying the price for a wild night — who’s nursing some coffee of his own. “What the fuck happened last night?” I whisper. It’s a recurring question this morning. Row glances between me and Björn before replying, “How much do you remember?”

I nibble on my lip, wondering whether I should blurt it all out or have them tell me and hope their story isn’t the same as the one in my head. “And why are you two here?”

“I came to fetch you,” Björn pipes up. “But you were still asleep. And Rowland here was in the kitchen when I got here. We’ve been waiting for you two to get out of bed.” He tries, and fails, to hide his smile by taking a sip of his coffee.

“Do you have to say asleep like that?” I whisper-hiss. “We really were asleep.”

I glance at Rowland, but he’s of no help. He won’t look at me. He’s blushing, though, which is telling.

“What time did you get here?” I ask.

He clears his throat, and scratches his chin. “Early. Maybe a little too early.”

“Oh, God.” I hang my head, sticking my hands in my wet hair. “We did it twice?” It’s supposed to come out as a whisper, but apparently it doesn’t.

“More than twice,” comes Ethan’s voice. “Hey, man.” I don’t know who he’s greeting, I’m too humiliated to care.

“Breakfast’s in the oven,” Rowland says. “There’s enough for four, if you want to join us, B.”

Because the four of us having breakfast after last night sounds like a fanfuckingtastic idea.

In another fucking universe.

Rowland sets the plates down, going about it like this isn’t the most ridiculous thing ever, except the smell of fried egg makes me gag. I hop off the barstool to a chorus of “Bird!” and hightail it to Ethan’s bathroom. I drop to my knees just in time, the contents of my stomach making an inelegant exit from my body. Minutes later, my hair is being swept up and away from my face, and a large hand is rubbing circles on my back.

“You okay?” Ethan asks. My body shudders and it has nothing to do with having puked my guts out only seconds earlier.

“No,” I moan, aware that my eyes are doing the leaky thing. When I’m positive there’s nothing left, I move from being on my knees and sit on my butt. Ethan wipes my forehead, and I let him, liking the feel of the cool, damp cloth on my fevered skin. He frowns when he notices I’m crying, and crouches beside me. “Birdie—”

A quick shake of my head cuts him off. “Can I have a few minutes alone, please?”

He hesitates, but then nods before standing, and leaving me alone. As soon as the door closes, I let it out, no matter how ugly the sounds may be. Because now I’m starting to remember what happened, and none of it makes sense. I was upset after learning of Harlan and Liv’s engagement and went to the bar to see Björn, and bumped into Ethan instead. I told him I didn’t want to talk to him until I’d had more alcohol. I drank more. Then I told Ethan about the café, how I needed more help and how I wanted to buy his borded-up space. He said we can negotiate (whether we did or not, I’m not sure) and then Björn showed up. He had some words with Ethan, but those are fuzzy, and then…“We got drunk, and came here, and had wild sex.”

There has to be some kind of sweet-talking in there somewhere, I wouldn’t just get into bed with him. Right? Wrong. Because my body is telling me I absolutely got into bed with him. And we went at it more than once, apparently. At this point, I have no reason to believe Ethan would lie. Not about that.

“What have I done?” I whisper, well aware I’m not going to get an answer. Nothing plausible anyway. And now there’s a kitchen full of men who know about last night’s shenanigans, one of them being a participant in said shenanigans. How the fuck do I fix this? Do I demand Björn take me home immediately to avoid the situation in the kitchen, and avoid Ethan? The answer can drop from the heavens any time now, I’m not sure I can face anyone until it does. Standing on shaky legs, I wash my face, rinse my mouth out and go to sit on the edge of the bed until I feel just a tiny bit better.