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Despite being on a busy street, it’s early, and the bar is quiet. A game is playing on mute on the large screen, but nobody appears to be watching it.
I see a jukebox in the corner.
Perfect distraction.
Grabbing my purse, I feel his wandering eyes on me with every step. He’s still staring at me when I sit on the stool again, smiling to myself.
With the same sexy smirk on his lips, he asks, “What did you choose?”
I wink. “You’ll see.”
WhenYou’re So Veinplays over the speakers, he throws his head back and laughs.
Chapter Nine
My eyelids feel glued together. My mouth has never been this dry—I’m pretty sure it’s on the verge of cracking. And the banging at my temples is both punishing and unforgiving.
Cursing myself for forgetting to pull the curtains last night, I feel the sun on my face before I open my eyes.
What did I drink? The entire bar?
I open one eye, close it again as quickly and groan at my stupidity. I’m so hungover my bedroom doesn’t even look like mine.
But then I feel a large hand sprawled over my stomach.
Who the hell is in my bed?
Slowly, I peel my eyes open, convinced even the slightest movement will wake my bed buddy.
And there he is—snoring lightly into his pillow, sun-kissed skin, every muscle contoured in the morning light, tousled dark chestnut hair with a five o’clock shadow across his jaw.
This isn’t my bedroom.
Bad Claire.
So bad.
It’s my partner in misery.
It looks like we both found comfort in our joint loathing.
Glancing around, I drink in the large room while trying to piece together what happened last night.
I remember playing a song on the jukebox.
He ordered more drinks.
We laughed.
Well, I laughed. Jake looked at me like he couldn’t understand why someone made the sound so often.
I played more music.
He judged my taste.
But I wasn’t drunk.
What did I do, and why can’t I remember any of it?
