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Don’t panic. Right? Just keep cool. So I’d danced braless at the party to House of Pain’s “Jump Around,” and then we’d gone to Josh’s place, and Nick and I had toilet papered Josh’s nice townhouse condo in his nice neighborhood and let the air out of the tires of his precious Mustang, and then I’d prank called him. And then we’d come back here, and we’d stripped and passed out, and now I was in bed with Nick Mason.
This was not a problem. Everything was fine. It was allfine. This could be contained.
Something landed on the bed, and I jumped. A dog—a tiny dog—climbed onto my lap and started lapping my face with its small, warm tongue. I sputtered and tried to push it away, but it persisted.
The memory came back from last night. The dog greeting us, Nick saying something about having to take her out. He’d gone out briefly while I stripped and got in bed. He said the dog was a girl, and her name was—
“Scout.”
The voice came from the other side of the bed. A low growl, muffled by pillows. My whole body tensed, my pulse going crazy.Do not look. You are not in bed with Nick Mason right now if you do not look. Do not—
“Scout,” he growled again. “Fuck off.”
Scout did a happy jig at the sound of his voice, her buggy little eyes wide with bliss, her tongue lolling out. Her whole body shook with joy. I had never seen a Chihuahua in real life before. It was completely absurd.
“I’ll feed you in a second,” Nick said. “Just chill.”
Scout sat next to my knee, placing her tiny bottom on the comforter and waiting, her tongue still out. She tried to be still.
The room went quiet again. Nothing changed. Because this was happening—I was really here.
I took in the bedroom. It was big and spacious, with a high ceiling—Nick lived in one of those loft places. There was the huge bed, and a window, and a single dresser, with clothes piled everywhere on the floor. The source of Nick’s many worn and mostly unwashed T-shirts, I figured. The entire place screamedGuy living alone.
And the guy who lived here, alone, was still in the bed next to me.
I turned my head and looked at him.
He wasn’t looking at me, thank God. Nick was lying on his stomach, sprawled out, his face buried in the pillows. The blanket partly covered him, but I could see one smooth, gorgeous shoulder blade, one spectacular bicep—both covered in an intricate pattern of ink. A toned leg was hooked over the edge of the blanket, his tawny skin contrasting with the white comforter. I could see his dark tousled hair, the back of his neck. And I could see—he was wearing boxer briefs. Black ones. Visible against the white of the blanket was one perfect, unbelievable male ass.
I stared at it for a minute, helpless and ass-struck. It was impossible not to stare. It really was that kind of ass.
Had we—? No. We hadn’t had sex. My memory was clear. We might be in bed together, in our underwear, but nothing had happened. No kissing, no touching, no making out. For a self-professed dirty guy, Nick had followed the rules. In his own crazy way, he’d actually been a gentleman. A hot, drunk, dangerous, gorgeous-assed gentleman.
Where the hell were my clothes?
And then it hit me. Work. It was Friday, and I had to go to work.
I must have made a sound, because from deep in his pillows, Nick said, “Evie. Are you panicking?”
Scout wiggled again at the sound of his voice and made a little whine.
“Um,” I said, my voice hitching. “Possibly.”
“Don’t,” he growled. “You remember what we did last night?”
“Yes,” I said.
“You remember what we didn’t do?”
I nodded, then remembered he wasn’t looking at me. “Yes.”
“You can get up,” he said. “I won’t look.”
I slid my feet out over the edge of the bed and got up. Scout looked at me hopefully, but stayed next to Nick, since he was her food source. And, obviously, her religion. She looked at his unmoving form like the sun rose and set on it.
I walked around the bed, looking for my clothes. My stained shirt and bra were gone—I didn’t think we even brought them home. I found my jeans, my socks, the ankle boots I’d worn. True to his word, Nick kept his face hidden in the pillows and didn’t peek. I grabbed my clothes and ducked into the bathroom.
I steeled myself and looked in the mirror. I was a disaster: my hair on end, my makeup smeared, my eyes bleary. Worse, I was trapped in a man-bathroom with no supplies. I splashed water on my face, tried to finger-comb my hair. Now I just looked wet and awful. I looked around. The bathroom was spacious, with a big glassed-in shower and a large vanity counter. Nick had a very nice place, which meant he was probably rich, just like Josh had said. Normally I’d think it impolite to invade someone’s privacy, but these were extreme circumstances. I pulled open one of the vanity drawers.
