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1
My return to consciousness was gentle and languorous.
I wasn't in my own bed, that much was clear. And I never slept naked at home. The sunlight was a warm glow on the other side of my closed eyelids, and I stretched, legs sliding decadently through the sheets.
The memories were vague, blurred by one too many celebratory cocktails. I remembered dark eyes. I remembered the pulsing beat of music thrumming in my bones. A pair of strong hands gripping my hips as the music and alcohol finally overpowered my inhibitions. And later, that same pair of hands, still gripping my hips as they moved in a different pattern. I remembered hot breath against my ear.
Heat fluttered low through my belly. The sheets rustled as the mattress shifted and dipped, and a hard, smooth body molded itself against my back. My breath caught as one arm came around me, hand resting just beneath my navel. A sigh ruffled the hair by my temple before settling into the steady, even rhythm of sleep once more.
A pity, I thought with a smile. I was half tempted to wake him up, whoever he was, and see if he could be persuaded into round two—three? four? I was plenty sore enough—but I was pretty sure there was something important I had to do today. What was it?
Oh. Clarity began to seep through my haze, along with a tingle of anticipatory excitement. The flight. The archaeological dig. My summer project in Velarta. How could I have forgotten? That was why I'd been out celebrating last night, I—
Fuck. Oh, fuck.
Memories of the previous night hit me like a sledgehammer to the face, and my eyes shot open. Theo. I'd been out with Theo. Half celebration, half rubbing it in his face that I got to go to Velarta and he didn't, our standard game of one-upmanship, but surely I wouldn't have—surely I didn’t—
I pulled back the sheet, my horrified gaze landing on the hand resting on my midsection. I knew that hand; I didn't even need to roll over.
I looked anyway, holding my breath, sliding ever so gingerly out of his embrace—don't wake him up, don't wake him up—bringing the sheet with me, clutched desperately around my torso as I slipped off the bed and turned…
Fuuuuuck.
It was Theo. Of course it was. Theo motherfucking Huang, best friend and chief rival of twenty-five years, the only person in the world who knew that six-year-old River had wanted to be a unicorn when she grew up, who knew the full story behind the noodle incident, who knew all the right things to say to my dad when I never did. The one guy in the world I was never supposed to sleep with.
But there he was, dark lashes brushing his cheeks, face soft in sleep, limbs askew against the sheets as if he had nothing in the world to be ashamed of.
As though he could feel my eyes on him, he gave a soft snort and rolled to his back, one leg falling aside to reveal—
I muffled my squeak and tore my gaze from the bed. Wrapping the sheet around myself, I stumbled across the room, ducking to gather discarded clothing as I went. Jeans by the bed, shirt by the door—underwear hanging from the corner of the dresser?—then into the bathroom, shutting the door silently. I leaned against the wall, my heart thundering in my chest.
Oh, this was so bad.
I turned on the tap and splashed cold water on my face, then checked myself over in the mirror, taking stock of the dark marks on my neck and across my collarbone. How could this have happened? Theo was off limits.
I met my own panicked gaze in the mirror as my memories of the previous night began to rearrange themselves. Those strong hands holding my hips as I swayed to the music? Theo's hands. The deep laugh by my ear? Theo's laugh. The mouth sucking the skin of my shoulder, the fingertips caressing my breasts, the leg pressed between mine as I—oh God. I had to get out of here.
I pulled my clothes on in a rush, trying to move as quietly as possible. I couldn't find my bra, but there was no time to search. He could keep it as a souvenir. Or better yet, burn it and forget this entire incident had ever happened.
I hopped on one foot as I yanked on my shoes—which had ended up in the bathroom somehow—then peered into the mirror one last time. There was nothing to be done about my hair, so I just pushed it behind my ears.
Please don’t be awake, please don’t be awake.
I closed my eyes, repeating the mantra one last time, then cracked open the bathroom door and slipped out. He was still asleep, thank God. With my breath held high and tight in my chest, I tiptoed across the bedroom, praying all the while that the floor wouldn't creak. My fingers had just brushed the doorknob when—
“River?”
Jesus. Twenty-five years of hearing my name in his voice, and it had never sounded like that, all deep and gravelly with sleep.
I froze, then slowly turned, feeling like I was facing a firing squad. I tried not to look at him and failed.
“Where are you—?”
“Hey!” I blurted. That voice was going to kill me. “Um, yeah. Gotta go, got a flight to catch, thanks, um…see you in a few months!”
I bit down on my tongue to stop myself from making it worse and spun to face the door again. Seriously, River?
“Wait, you—”
