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I nuzzled deeper into my cocoon of coziness. My head was pounding, my tongue had been replaced with a dehydrated scrap of sandpaper, and my stomach was a nauseous, roiling pit. But it was dark, I was warm, and… was someone stroking my hair? I leaned into it, happy to let it ease the throbbing in my temples. Why did it feel so damn good to have my hair played with? If I could purr, I would.
Wait.
My eyes snapped open and I took proper stock of where I was, and with who—whom?—was this one of those times when whom was appropriate?Not important Chase.
Who. Whom. Whoever the fuck. It didn’t matter because I was in a strange, yet appallingly comfortable bed, curled around Mack like he was my own personal body pillow. And his hand was in my hair. Oh. God.
I tried to stay perfectly still, now painfully aware of every point of contact between my body and his. My cheek was tucked against the spot his shoulder met his chest. My arm was slung across his torso. Muscles. There were muscles. My right leg was thrown over his thigh and oh no, no, no, was that? No. I was not thinking about the fact that my leg was basically touching my best friend’s dick. Big. Hard. Dick. No! Absolutely not.
Slowly, so as not to jostle my—hopefully sleeping—friend, I moved my leg out of the dick zone and eased backwards, out from under his arm. I missed the warmth of his skin immediately but I was not going to be here when he woke up, no fucking way.
My clothes were folded neatly and in a small pile next to Mack’s. So, last night, when I’d asked him for something to sleep in he could have just tossed me my own shirt, yet he’d given me his instead. I darted a look at him, still breathing slow and even, the arm I’d been curled under was thrown wide, like maybe he was looking for me in his sleep. My eyes followed the line of that arm, roped with long, lean muscle, to his shoulder and across his strong chest.
No more ogling, Chase, get the hell out.
I whipped off his shirt, pulled mine on, no time for a bra, and stuffed my legs into my jeans before sliding out into the hall. The door closed with a click and I sagged against it.
Drunk Chase had taken some serious liberties last night. The selfish bitch. More annoying was the fact that I knew why she—whyI—did it.
Pip stepped out onto the landing from the room next door. The room that was not her bedroom and yet it looked like she’d been sleeping in there.
“Morning,” she said, winding her long, shiny hair into a knot, her eyes uncharacteristically guarded.
“Morning,” I croaked.
She started down the stairs. “How are you feeling?”
“Like there’s an ax embedded in my skull. And you?”
“More of an ice pick. Hungry?”
The mention of food had my stomach clenching uncomfortably, but I also knew that eating would speed up the process of getting through this hangover. Sleep would have been better but that, sadly, wouldn’t be an option until later. “Yes and no.”
“I know what you mean.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask her about sleeping in a different room than Tim, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe she was just checking something in there. Did I even want to get into it? It sure as hell wasn’t any of my business.
“What time did everything wrap up?” I asked instead.
“Patrick and Kat were the last to leave. They’re always the last to leave. You basically have to kick them out. I’ve got no idea what time it was.” She paused and slid a sideways glance at me. “You looked like you had a good night.”
I ignored that look because it saw too much and, even if I wasn’t so hungover, I still wouldn't be interested in talking. “It looked like everyone had a good night. It wouldn’t be a Pip and Tim party otherwise.”
Her responding smile was little more than a stretch of her lips.
Tim was standing over a skillet at the stove with a mug in one hand as we entered the kitchen. He glanced up and smiled, a strained, joyless thing, just like his wife’s. There was definitely something going on. I reminded myself it wasn’t actually any of my business. Thankfully, Savanna came barrelling into the room, oblivious to her parents’ awkwardness.
“Aunty Cheese! The bouncy castle is still up! Come on! Come on!”
The mere thought of a bouncy castle was enough to make my headache double in fear, but it was better than standing in the kitchen pretending like there wasn’t shit going down between Pip and Tim.
“Let’s do it,” I said as I grabbed a piece of bacon and an apple on the way out.
My mind stayed in the kitchen, even as I fought to keep down my singular piece of bacon and three bites of apple as Savanna jostled me on the inflatable death contraption.
Pip and Tim had been married for over twenty years and had always been disgustingly in love. It was disconcerting, but also comforting, to know that not all adult relationships had to be fucking disaster zones. They still fought but they loved and supported each other. Could that still happen when they weren’t sleeping in the same room? I didn’t know, I had no experience in this arena.
All I knew was if those two couldn’t make it work, what hope was there for the rest of us?
