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Alyssa closes her eyes as she continues. “I just…I just don’t want to be alone tonight. And I don’t want to feel like a huge nerd who can’t even score an invite back to a guy’s place for the night. I’m supposed to be this upcoming star, and I seriously can’t even—”
“You can come back to my place, Alyssa,” I interrupt her with a smile of my own. “You can even tell your friend that I fucked your brains out, if it makes you feel better.”
“Thanks, Rhys.” She smirks over at me.
And as she does, I feel something start to warm inside my chest.
Chapter 4
Alyssa
Iwake up in a strange bed, looking up at an even stranger ceiling.
What the hell?
The ceiling looks like it was painted by a master artist, images of clouds and palaces swirling across its surface. It reminds me of something straight out of the Renaissance, something that would be at home in old European museums beside images of stuffy-looking kings and queens in powdery white makeup.
The bed, which is dressed in dark gray sheets topped with a silky, purple bedcover, is complete with a remote beside the mattress. It suggests that the softness of the mattress can be controlled by pushing a button. It’s such a contrast to the classic nature of the ceiling, like I’m somehow straddling the past and the present at the same time, stuck between the modern convenience of adjusting the mattress’s comfort level and a ceiling torn out of a long-dead king’s home.
“Oh. You’re up.” Rhys’s voice greets me, low and rumbling as he walks into the bedroom. He stands casually with a hip jutted out and coffee in hand. He takes a sip.
And I feel my jaw drop before I have a chance to stop it.
Holy shit.
I already knew that Rhys was absolutely gorgeous, but seeing him like this, standing in front of me in nothing but a pair of black boxers? The line of his six-pack, the muscular V of his hips leading the eye to the trace of his cock bulging underneath the stretched fabric. I can’t help the way something clenches tight between my thighs, my body letting me know that it is ready for him, even though he hasn’t offered me a damn thing. In fact, he may have… refused me, if the flashes in my cloudy head are telling me the truth?
“Are you okay?” he smiles, walking over to the bed and perching on the edge of the mattress. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”
“I’m fine,” I lie. I widen my eyes and I nod my head for added emphasis. “I was just…um…where are we, exactly?”
“Welcome to my humble abode,” he answers, with a smirk. “The place you begged to come back to last night.”
“Ibeggedto come back here last night?” I repeat his answer, confusion filling my tone. “Wait. But we didn’t uh, right?”
“No, we didn’t,” he cuts me off. “Because I would never do something like that to you. You were way too out of it to consent. And I am a big fan of enthusiastic consent.” He puts extra stress on “enthusiastic.”
Consent?
Was I also begging him to hook up last night? I strain to remember the events of the evening, but my mind is still only offering up blurry bits and pieces.
Goddammit.
Did I really have that much to drink?
“I’m sorry if I was a huge mess,” I apologize, unsure of whether I made a total fool of myself or not. “I seriously can’t remember too much of what happened—”
“I told you that I wanted to fuck your brains out,” he reminds me cheerfully. “And you said that you wanted me to fuck your brains out, too. Enthusiastic, sure. Consent, no.”
“That…sounds like a lot,” I reply, my cheeks burning with pure embarrassment. My head drops.
“To be fair to you though, it sounded mostly like you were just trying to keep up with your friend,” he continues. “You mentioned something about not wanting to feel like a loser who can’t go home with a guy from the bar?”
“That does sound like something drunk me would say.” I nervously chuckle. “Well, either way. I’m sorry if I made things weird. I would never…I know that it’s not a good idea to mix business and pleasure, and sleeping with one of my bandmates just seems like begging for trouble—”
“The offer still stands, Alyssa.”
“…I’m sorry?”
