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Chapter Three
Why is myhead killing me? And why is my mouth dry as a desert? Maybe I have the flu.
Laurel opened her eyes. A man’s arm lay across her chest. She followed his arm to his shoulder and then to his face. Zack. Awake and smiling at her. His green eyes sparkling with devilish humor.
“Oh, shit.” Not the flu. A massive hangover. Bits and pieces of the night before came back to her. Dumping water on Grabass. Getting fired. Crying. Drinking. Too much, obviously.
“Is that any way to greet your lover?” Zack asked.
She closed her eyes, then opened them to look at him. “My…did we… Oh, shit.”
“You said that. Having regrets, are you?”
“This is not remotely amusing.”
“Maybe not to you. I think it’s hilarious.”
“Did we have sex?” Laurel demanded. She remembered kissing him. More like attacking him, you dumbass. What had she done?
He was propped up on his arm, bare-chested and still smiling that big ol’ shit-eating grin. “Now you’ve hurt my feelings. You don’t remember making wild love with me?”
Her eyes narrowed. She sat up, realizing she still wore most of her clothes. Not her jeans. But she still had her panties on. And her shirt and bra. Surely if she’d had sex she wouldn’t be wearing so many clothes. Probably. “No. I don’t. And furthermore, I don’t think we did.”
Zack sat up and her gaze was unwillingly drawn to his bare chest. Again. A beautifully muscled bare chest that made her hands itch to caress it. This is Zack. What were you thinking?
I was thinking he’s hot and I’ve always liked him and I wanted to be a little reckless for a change.
You sure as hell accomplished that.
“You’d be right,” Zack said. “We didn’t have sex. But it would have served you right if we had.” He got out of bed, bent down and grabbed his jeans, and wearing only his boxers went into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. A short time later he came out, wearing the jeans but still with no shirt. If she hadn’t been so hungover she’d have been salivating.
“You can have the shower first. You’ll feel better once you do. I’ll make coffee.”
A shower. Coffee. Yes, she needed fortification. She’d figure out what to do after that.
Twenty minutes later, she got out of the shower, wrapped herself in a towel and looked in the mirror. Ew. Not pretty.
Hunting for a brush, she pulled out a drawer. Ordinarily she didn’t snoop, but this was an emergency. Besides, she wasn’t going through his drawers to be nosy.
She found a brush and ran it through her hair, then looked in the mirror again.
Better. By no means good, but better. She didn’t look quite so much like death warmed over. Her wet hair hung down to her shoulders and despite the shower she looked a little pasty-faced. But she’d seen worse in the mirror after a sleepless night with sick kids.
Zack knocked on the door. “Here’s your coffee. Hope you like it black because that’s all I have.”
She opened the door and took the mug of steaming liquid from him. “Black is great, thank you.” She started to shut the door but realized Zack was staring at her with a strange expression on his face. Glancing down, she checked to make sure the towel covered her. “I hope you don’t mind that I used your shampoo. And your brush.”
He blinked and shook his head. “You’re welcome to use anything you find in there.”
“Thanks.” She shut the door and looked around for a hair dryer but she had no luck locating one. Putting her clothes back on, she vowed to never again wear a button-down white shirt.
Laurel knew she owed Zack a huge apology. Wincing, she recalled parts of what had happened. Margaritas. Flirting with…what was his name? Zack showing up and what’s-his-name leaving. Refusing to go home. Asking Zack, more than once, if he wanted to “have his way with her.” As if that wasn’t bad enough, she asked him to kiss her. And he had. Or maybe she had kissed him. Whichever, she remembered the feel of his body pressing against hers, her legs wrapped around him, his lips on hers. She wasn’t imagining that.
Was she?
No, even her imagination wasn’t that good. So, if it was true and not her lurid imagination, there must have been a reason she’d thrown herself at him. Had he said something? Something to imply he was willing? Or maybe she was grasping at straws and she was simply a lonely divorcée in need of a second job who drank too much and practically attacked Zack when he was only trying to help her.
What a depressing thought.
