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And when I see who it is, I startle so intensely that I let out a loud, sharp yell.
It’s Hunter fucking Landry who’s cringing at my high-pitched screech as he walks into his room and gently shuts the door behind him.
“Thanks for the warm greeting, Pheebs.”
“Hunter!? What are you doing here?”
He shrugs, bringing the mug in his hand to his lips to take a sip. “Well, it’s my room, so …”
“Then … what am I doing here?” Suddenly, that headache I’d managed to forget about comes roaring back, the back of my neck prickling as a wave of pain cascades through my head and makes my flinch.
Hunter tells me what happened last night. How he found me drinking way too much, stopped me from drinking anymore, tried to carry me home, but then realized I was feeling too bad to make it all the way, and decided I should just stay over at his place.
And he actually let me sleep in his own bed? Instead of dumping me on the couch downstairs—or the floor?
“Well … thanks for everything,” I say, feeling so embarrassed that I wish he’d just left me to sleep it off on the sidewalk.
Then, in my fuzzy memory, another moment comes into sharper focus. Hunter’s carrying me—he’s got me slung over his shoulder like a heavy bag of potatoes, actually—and I’m babbling. I’m telling him …
My eyelids snap open and a shock of dread pulses up and down my back.
Please let this not be a real memory. Please let this just be me remembering a bad dream.
Please tell me I didn’t blab to Hunter about how Blake could never make me come; please tell me I didn’t say to Hunter that I wish we could be friends with benefits so he could give me an orgasm.
“So, last night,” I begin, “I was … uh, pretty drunk, right?”
Hunter chuckles, the warm sound soothing my headache a little bit. “Yeah. I’d call that an understatement.”
“And I, uh, probably said some weird things, I guess? Rambled a lot? I do that when I’m drunk sometimes.”
He shrugs again. “Everyone does when they’re drunk, I think.”
I dare to feel cautiously relieved. Okay, maybe what I fear happened last night didn’t really happen. Because if I really told Hunter about my sex problems and practically begged him to fuck me, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be acting so blasé right now.
I clear my throat. “If I said anything, uh … really weird … it’s just that …”
There’s a glint in his eye, but he only shrugs again, casual as if this isn’t the most bizarre and uncomfortable moment of my life. “The only weird thing was that you were actually a little nicer than usual when you were totally wasted.”
I grin. I think I can rest easy, now. There’s no way Hunter would be letting it slide if I actually babbled all that to him last night. Yeah, it must have just been a dream.
“Thanks for everything last night. Even though I can’t remember any of it. Ugh, I should go home now …”
“You should eat something. Let’s get breakfast.”
My stomach grumbles. Some greasy hangover food does sound pretty good right now.
“I don’t know,” I protest, however. “I should probably get home.”
Hunter blows a dismissive breath through his lips. “Come on, my treat. Get your shoes on, let’s go.”
I’m clearly being confronted by the kind of headstrong Hunter Landry that I don’t have anywhere near the energy to argue against right now. The grumbling in my stomach only getting stronger, and the idea of getting some fresh air to clear out some of the cobwebs in my head suddenly sounding very appealing, I concede. “Fine.”
About twenty minutes later, after I’ve used the bathroom and washed my face, we’re being seated at Pete’s Diner, a couple blocks from Hunter’s place. The restaurant is packed on a Saturday morning, many of the patrons clearly just as hung over as I am. Comrades of my suffering.
I savor the strong, hot coffee. The flavor and aroma suffuse through me like the best kind of therapeutic, and once I’m halfway through my first cup, I feel like I’ve got at least one foot back in the realm of the living.
A waitress takes our order. I order a sausage, egg, and cheese on a bagel with a side of homefries. Hunter orders a mind-boggling amount of food that makes me think he’s playing a prank on the waitress or something. An omelet, a stack of pancakes, homefries, toast, sausage, and bacon.
