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Groaning, I dropped my head into my hands.And for about the twentieth time in the span of only a few minutes, I experienced something strange and unfamiliar. This time, it was the touch of cold metal on my face. Which I immediately categorized as out of the norm because I almost never wore rings.
As a physical therapist, it was too easy to get them caught on clothing, hair, or occasionally the equipment. There were ways to get around it, but I had simply never bothered, even when I wasn’t working. And I was positive that I hadn’t put any on last night when getting ready. I remembered that part of the night well enough.
Afraid to look, I lowered my shaking hands and held them out into the dusty ray of dim sunlight streaming between those gaudy curtains. Sure enough, there it was. A thin silver band wrapped around my finger. One that, unsurprisingly, was not mine, as far as I was aware. Much like the hotel room I was in, and the man sleeping beside me. None of it was mine. It was as if I had stepped into an alternate dimension. Or someone else’s life. As weird as they were, both of those options were preferable to what I was fearing had actually happened.
Because, worst of all, the offending piece of jewelry was currently sitting on the fourth finger. Of my left hand. The aptly namedring finger.
“No. No way. Absolutely not. It’s not possible. It’s just a joke. It has to be.” I rambled incoherently to myself, trying to figure out how things had gotten so off the rails in such a short time.
This outing was supposed to be a standard girls’ trip, nothing more. A brief respite from the terribly depressing reality awaiting me back home. The intention had been to get all dressed up and partake in lots of drinking, dancing, and maybe even a bit of innocent flirting if the opportunity presented itself.
Flirting, not...whatever the hell had gone down last night.
And that was exactly what had been happening during the coherent parts of the night. My last clear memories were of just the three of us. Alone. No guy around. It didn’t make sense. Even intoxicated I couldn’t believe that I would have gone off by myself with someone I had just met and ended up in bed with them.
And as far as the business with the ring, well that seemed even more inconceivable.
I closed my eyes again, trying desperately to pull any helpful memories out of my dehydrated and fried brain. Anything would help. The tiniest flash or image. Maybe I had found the ring on the floor and put it on. Or perhaps some other drunk person had given it to me for some inexplicable reason. Maybe I had even bought it, randomly. Who knew what I had been thinking last night?
There were plenty of possibilities. Tons of reasonable explanations. A single piece of cheap jewelry did not a marriage make. Not even in the drunken wedding capital of the world. I didn’t care how the saying went, just because there was smoke didn’t mean there was fire.
With those reassuring thoughts my breathing slowed, and the panic receded. Whatever had or hadn’t happened last night, I would get to the bottom of it all shortly. First, however, I needed to get out of bed and get dressed. I didn’t want to be bare-assed if or when I officially, soberly met the guy I’d almost certainly slept with. Talk about awkward.
Sliding to the edge of the mattress, I searched the floor for my clothing. Luckily, I immediately spotted my underwear not too far away. And then I spotted the slinky black dress Paige had talked me into wearing draped over a chair. I dropped my feet to the floor and hurriedly picked them up.
“Okay, now where the hell is my bra?” I muttered, scanning every surface.
“Hmm?”
I yelped at the sudden deep voice, clutching the clothing protectively to my chest. Backing up to the wall, I held my breath, hoping that the mystery man would fall back asleep if I was quiet enough.
“Jillian?” the voice asked, and my heart basically stopped beating.
Clearly, mystery naked guy remembered more than I did about last night, including my name, and that felt unfair.
I considered making a run for it. The bathroom door was only a few feet away. I could easily hide in there, take my time getting dressed, and hopefully make myself somewhat composed before I came out and faced the music.
Unfortunately, I discovered that I was far too hungover to make any type of decision at all. Instead, I stood stock still, my mouth dry. “Uhh.”
“What’s wrong?” the guy asked, starting to roll over towards me.
Unable to look away, I watched as a set of sculpted abs revealed themselves, complete with a deep vee that disappeared downward into the blankets. With difficulty, I drifted upwards, taking in the firm chest, and yet another tattoo.
With a deep breath, I forced myself to finish my perusal.
The man in the bed was objectively handsome. He had classic, perfectly formed features with high cheekbones and a strong stubble-covered jaw. Blue eyes so dark they were nearly navy under thick straight eyebrows. That dark wavy hair I had glimpsed earlier was just long enough to sexily fall over one eye.
Yep. He was hot as hell.
What hewasn’t, however, was a stranger.
In a horrifying turn of events, I knew this man. And that was worse than the alternative.
He was the worst possible person I could have fallen into bed with. No contest.
As the uncomfortable truth settled in, I shrieked and reflexively dropped the clothes from my arms. “Dean?”
“Yeah? Who else would it be?”
