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The pillow leaves my head. "The dead has risen." Now that's a sexy voice to wake up to. Wait . . .
I force my eyes open and turn my head toward the sound. She's standing at the side of the bed, wearing nothing but a shirt and panties, her long, brown hair thrown up on top of her head and her face free of makeup, a coffee cup in hand. Is that who I fucked last night? Damn, she's hot. As drunk as I was, I was expecting something less desirable without the beer goggles in place. I stare at her, my memory foggy from the night before. She takes a sip from the mug, and I finally smell it, bringing me to life a little more than before. She grins. "It's Tynleigh."
Thank fuck. "Tynleigh." I eye her body. "Nice." I glance around the room, trying to remember what she looks like naked. Nothing is immediately falling out of the memory bank. Fuck, what did I drink? Where's Joel?
"Are you going to be okay?"
"What time is it?" I ask.
"Way past time for me to be at work. I guess it's a good thing I have a lax schedule this week."
"Where do you work?"
She shakes her head, a smile spread across her face. She's beautiful, that's for damn sure, and either shy or she's figuring out a way to give me the boot without coming off as a bitch. "Nowhere important."
Why the fuck am I even still here? I rarely stay over with a girl, and never the first time. This is exactly why. It makes for an awkward exit when you're both sober and have had time to sleep. A sharp pain shoots through my head. "Do you have any aspirin?"
"Yeah. I was about to jump in the shower. I'm sure my brother and his fiancé will crawl out of their newly engaged sex hole before long and I'm assuming you probably don't want to be in the middle of the awkwardness of having to meet them. Plus, I don't want to be rude. I don't get to see him but a couple times a year. Can you get it? Cabinet by the refrigerator. Shelf above the alcohol. Bottled water is in the fridge."
"Sure." I look around on the bed and under the covers. When my sight sets back on her, she's holding my boxer briefs dangling from her index finger.
"Looking for these?"
"Yes."
I take them as she walks toward the bathroom, giving me enough privacy to get up and put them on. "Take your time. I won't be long. Just give me fifteen minutes and you can shower or I'll walk you out."
I nod, staring at her ass shamelessly as she walks into the bathroom and shuts the door. My hand runs through my hair. Shit. I need water and food and to go pass out at Joel's for the next eight hours. I love the occasional night out with alcohol as my wingman just as any other single person does, but his partying wears me the fuck out. I'm too old for this shit.
I walk out of the room, my weighted feet barely lifting off the floor. She has a pretty fucking nice apartment for someone her age. Even Joel's isn't this spacious. His is more like a fucking hole in the wall; AKA, a studio, but he refuses to get anything bigger since he lives alone. Anything to dip into his drug fund is a no-go.
It's a straight shot to the kitchen, and I figure out which cabinet she's referring to easy enough. I open it, a vague memory of a tit waterfall occurring as I take in the full liquor cabinet with a hefty price tag. My eyes hone in on the sink as I grab the bottle of aspirin, confirming the bottle of vodka is still there, almost empty.
Well that explains the memory loss . . .
I pop two pills into my mouth and set the bottle on the counter. The bottles of water are sitting in the door of the refrigerator. I grab one; quickly opening it and downing half the bottle, stopping halfway to wait for the brain freeze to pass, before finishing it off. Someone starts to stir in the other room. That's my cue to get the hell out of here before I have an awkward confrontation with a guy I don't know standing in my underwear.
I toss the empty plastic bottle in the trash as I make my way out of the kitchen, toward her bedroom. Large posters of magazine covers are framed and hung over the couch, stopping me. They're both from the same magazine company. I'm not sure why anyone would want that framed on their wall with article titles like—Sex: what to do when your man doesn't satisfyandRelationship 101: when is talk of exclusivity too soon.
The door opens, drawing my attention. A mirrored image of myself stands across from me. We stare at each other. I must still be drunk, because he looks just like—
"Bryant," he says in a clipped tone. "What the fuck are you doing here? And where are your clothes?"
Nope. I'm not imagining things. The jumbled thoughts in my mind go haywire. "Saxton?" I cross my arms over my chest. "Maybe I should ask you the same question."
"I'm visiting family. I don't owe you an explanation, but you sure as fuck owe me one when you're in my sister's apartment."
The thoughts finally unscramble and it all starts to make sense. Every vague as hell thing that fucker has ever said about family over the years settles into place. The smile occurs before I can stop it. I glance back at her door. "Which sister? The hot curvy brunette that knows how to have a good time?"
"I will fucking kill you. You better hope you're referring to some friend that's hiding around here somewhere."
The anger is written all over his face. I can't deny the humor in this situation. "Hmm. She called herself Tynleigh just before I made her come beneath the bar. I guess somehow we ended up here."
His stance changes. "You fucked my sister, Prick!"
The little bitch-boy from college has long disappeared. The laid-back porn star is no more. Now we're dealing with a pissed off one, and I must say this version is so much better. Instigating him a little may be fun. "I'll just say that now I fully understand why you kept her secret. That bangin' little body she has makes for one hell of a ride."
"Answer me. Did you fuck my sister?" His shouts are entertaining.
