AllFreeNovel
Share Us
AUBREE
It’s all slow and fuzzy when I first wake up, which isn’t uncommon for the morning after a Sunday night out. It all depends on how the game goes. If it’s a close one, with lots of tension and shouting, I can still feel it in my muscles the day after. But something is off. I know it even before I’m aware I’m unfortunately hungover.
It’s not the lingering effects of too many shots that’s making me feel heavy and sated, though.
Since when did my blankets have this much weight to them?
It only takes one weak stretch to feel another person under the sheets. With wide eyes and a quick glance around Jackson’s living room, all of last night tumbles into my memory.
Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.
It comes back all at once, and the shock feels like a shot glass slamming down on the bar. Jackson. I came home with Jackson last night.
It’s futile to pull the sheet up against my bare chest as I stare down at his naked form. How the hell did we both sleep on his couch?
I did more than sleep on this sofa.
The cushion groans slightly and I slow my movements as I attempt to slip out, still very much naked and groggy.
Every little moment flashes back and the conflicting emotions intensify. He kissed the side of my neck in front of the entire bar. He upped the ante in the game we played for years. Was he jealous of the guys who were hitting on me? Or … I don’t know. All I know is that it became something else when I kissed him back.
I barely remember anything about the ride home. All I remember is his mouth on mine, the deep murmurs and lust-filled groans. And how warm his body felt against mine.
Last night was better than I ever imagined it would be. The morning after, though? Well, there’s a reason I’ve never dreamed of this moment.
Bottom line: we crossed a big red line last night in front of everyone. That truth is a flashing bright light in my face as I tiptoe across the living room in search of my underwear.
Sex with your best friend’s brother is a no-no. I can already see the look of shock on Cheryl’s face. I can already imagine how awkward our group outings with friends will be.
Blood drains from my face and the regret slips in.
I never meant to take it this far.
My heart pounds as I stand paralyzed, clinging to Jackson’s navy blue comforter which is pressed against my chest. His living room is neat and masculine in the pale early morning sun filtering through the blinds. Apart from our clothes from last night strewn across the carpeted floor.
Eventually, I take in Jackson’s sleeping form. His firm—and bare—ass is fully on display, his arm hanging over the edge of the sofa. He’s dead to the world and guiltily I lay the comforter across him. His face is turned toward the back of the sofa, and his other arm is tucked under his pillow in a way that shows off his muscular frame. Broad shoulders rise and fall with every deep breath. Just as I feel a touch of ease, he mumbles something I can barely hear and I freeze. A beat passes and then another.
All the while, the slight chill in the room skims across my nakedness.
Clothes. For the love of all things holy. Where are my clothes?
It doesn’t take long to spot them, but each quiet moment comes with a hint of regret.
Why does Cheryl have to have the hottest brother in the history of the world? It’s not fair. That’s what I’ve told myself for so long now. It’s not fair, because I can never be with him.
Except I have been with him. We were together last night. He wanted me to come home with him, and I said yes, and now …
Now I have to get out of here.
Part of me wants to touch his shoulder, wake him up, and give him a repeat performance. To fake it until we make it, so to speak.
A big part of me, actually. Most of me. I want to feel his body against mine again. He was powerful and confident over me in a way that no other man has been. At the same time, he was familiar. Safe. Jackson knows me really well, and for good reason. We’ve been friends for years.
Oh, Aubree, what have you done?
The reality, though, is that I have morning breath, bed head, a hangover and regrets a mile long, as well as a growing list of insecurities and uncertainties. So the only faking I’ll be doing is faking that everything is okay until I am safely home and clinging to my own pillow.
I silently gather each garment like I’ve been trained by the CIA in extraction methods.
