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Fucking Tequila!
Bits of last night come back to me as I force my brain to remember. Some parts I wish I wouldn’t remember, and others I know I’ll want to remember forever.
I glance around at the guys and ease myself to stand, being careful not to annoy Simon or Shaun as I move. I wonder if they flipped a coin to see who would sleep next to me? The thought makes me smile.
I tiptoe out of the room that looks like another living area, just smaller than the others I’ve come across in this house, and when I reach the passage, I realise that the living room is right next door to Simon’s bedroom.
Now I know where I am.
I make a beeline for the toilet, needing to pee bad, and when I’m done, I find myself in the huge bathroom that I showered in last night with Garrett and Shaun. I wish I hadn’t drunk so much. I wish I had dealt with my pain better. I don’t want to be that person anymore. The one who acts irrationally. The one who doesn’t think of anyone but themselves. I hate that part of me. I’ve always thought that part of me was from the addiction. I assumed I behaved that way because I needed sex so badly that it consumed me.
I mean, it did consume me, but only because I let it. Have I been using it as an excuse to try and cope? To run away from my worries? To hide?
Obviously.
So, am I really an addict?
The question jolts me. I don’t know the answer. I have a feeling that I definitely have a problem with sex, but could my so-called addiction to it be all in my head? I haven’t felt the desperation to fuck like I used to. Not since… five guys wormed their way into my heart.
Yeah, they give me the sex I need, and yeah, it’s fucking epic, but if I had to choose between having them in my life but never having sex again or having all the sex with as many people I want, yet not have them in my life, I would give up sex in an instant.
“Holy shit,” I whisper, my eyes locked on the brown-eyed girl staring back at me in the mirror. She is paler than usual. Hungover, with dark circles under her eyes, but her lips are still pink. There’s even the slightest pink tinge to her cheeks. Her eyes might look tired, but they look real, no longer hiding behind the mask of makeup. Her long dark hair has a slight kink to it this morning. Probably from going to bed with it wet after the shower. And as I look at this girl, me, the only thing that looks out of place is my septum piercing. Let’s not even go into the fact that I’m wearing Ty’s red soccer jersey. The same jersey I stole from his gym bag in his office.
Shit. I hope the guys don’t recognise it.
What do the guys see when they look at me? The different versions of me? Do they love one version more than the other? I know they enjoy seeing me raw like this. It’s something I never thought I’d be comfortable doing, being exposed to them this way. I am, though—more than I realised.
Leaning forward, I slowly take my septum piercing out and lay it on the white marble bench.
“Hi,” I whisper, studying my face, really looking at myself for the first time ever. “Who are you?”
Lifting my hand, I run my finger across my cheek, down the bridge of my nose, and over my lips.
“Who do you want to be?”
The question I ask myself takes me aback a little.
As if I have a choice in who I am. That’s ridiculous… right?
“Can I choose? Can I change myself just by deciding?”
It’s a complex thought, one that has me confused as fuck, because while it’s something I want to explore, I realise I’m talking to myself in the mirror.
Fucking hell. I’m really losing my shit.
Sighing, I shake off my inner me and finish up in the bathroom by washing my hands, splashing water on my face, and guzzling a good dose of h2o straight from the faucet.
When I tiptoe back into the room where we slept, the first thing I notice is Marcus awake, lying on the couch above where Simon, Shaun and Garrett are sleeping on the floor.
“Good morning.” His voice is low, so he doesn’t disturb the other three sleeping princes. “You feeling ok?”
“Ah-yeah. Considering.”
Marcus grins. “You went hard last night.”
I lean against the door frame, nodding. “Yep. Stupid idea.”
Marcus doesn’t agree nor disagree, offering me a small smile as he lays with one arm under his head and a small throw blanket over his hips. He looks naked, even though I’m pretty sure he has jocks on under that blanket. His bare chest rises and falls as he breathes steadily, one of his feet propped up on the arm of the couch at the end, while his other leg is bent out to the side. It’s the placement of his other hand that has me staring. It disappears under the blanket, leading my mind to all sorts of dirty places that involve him jerking off for me.
