Page 6 of None Of Your Business

I slam both hands over my eyes. “Put clothes on.”

“This is my house.”

“I don’t care whose house it is. Your thighs are out.”

“You’re the one in my bed.”

“Clothes, Hudson!”

“Stop shouting!”

“I’m sorry, but I just woke up next to my mother’s psychiatrist.”

“I am not your mother’s psychiatrist.”

I peek between my fingers. He’s standing on the far side of the bed, utterly bewildered. I’ve never seen him like this. Normally, Hudson is immaculate and infuriatingly calm. Right now, he’s barefoot, half-naked, with aggressive bedhead, glaring at me with pale blue eyes.

He scrubs both hands over his face. “What are you doing in here?”

“I don’t know! What are you doing in here?”

His hands drop. “It’s my bedroom.”

“You’ve mentioned that.”

“I put you in the guest room last night.”

I pause. “Then why am I in your bed?”

“I don’t know, Rowan. I was unconscious.”

I stare at him. He stares back. We both look down at the bed. The sheets are tangled around my legs, and one of his pillows lies on the floor.

“I went to sleep alone,” Hudson says slowly.

“Congratulations.”

“In this bed.”

“Thrilled for you.”

“You were asleep across the hall.”

“Apparently, I migrated.”

“Apparently.”

A horrifying thought strikes me. “Did we have sex?”

His head jerks back. “No.”

“You sound offended.”

“I’m just sure.”

“How?”

He narrows his eyes. “Because I was sober.”