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“Well.” She put down her now-empty beer bottle. “It’s late. I probably should be going.”
“Are you serious?” Mark asked, spinning in his chair and gawking at her. “This is what you call drowning your sorrows in alcohol? Honey, you’re a lightweight.”
“I am not.” Laura lifted her chin in defiance. She wasn’t exactly a heavyweight drinker, but she could hold her own.
“Then prove it.” He handed her another beer bottle.
What was this? College? Would he ask her to do a beer bong next? Please. “Come on. Don’t be silly. We’re not twenty.”
“Nope. We’re not. Thank God.” He grinned. “And I’m glad, because twenty-year-olds know nothing about the world. I’d rather have a seasoned woman any day of the week.”
Did he mean her? Was he…flirting? She glanced at the bottle in his hand, hesitating. What would one more round really hurt anyway? Mark seemed to sense her indecision. He waggled the beer in front of her.
“Come on. How miserable are you, really? Just two beers miserable? Because that’s hardly miserable at all.”
She had to laugh at that. She was far more than two beers miserable.
“Fine,” she said and grabbed the bottle from his hand. “You win.”
He chuckled and took another swig of his beer as she started on hers. She’d just stay for one more. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?
CHAPTER FIVE
LAURA WOKE UP feeling like an elephant had stomped on her head and someone had filled her mouth with sand. Searing white light bashed her closed eyelids, and a pulsing, distant thud of pain thumped in her temples. She feared opening her eyes. The light would no doubt make her hangover ten times worse. All she wanted to do was lie here, very still, and hope to fall back asleep.
Flashes of the night before came to her. Beer, Mark, laughing…then more beer. She’d drunk her misery away, yes, she had, but she’d also brought more misery to her brain, which right now wanted to crawl out of her skull to get away from this crushing migraine. Her stomach roiled, too, and she felt a wave of nausea overcome her. Not good.
She’d have to open her eyes sometime. She cracked one eye open, expecting to see the palm-tree-decorated comforter on her rental condo bed, but instead found herself lying beneath a gray-striped blanket on a large king-size bed in a room she didn’t recognize.
Laura sat up in alarm, the sheets falling from her body, and then realized she was wearing nothing but her bra and underwear. Laura covered her chest with her arms and realized with alarm she was sitting in Mark’s bed. In her underwear.
But where was Mark?
She listened frantically but heard nothing. Was she alone? What the hell had happened last night?
Frantically, she searched her memory of the night before. Beers on his deck. Lots of beers. Then… Oh, no. Tequila shots. Did that happen? Yes, she had a fuzzy memory of Mark slicing limes. Tequila was never good. She might as well just hit herself in the head with a rock. Why did she think tequila was a good idea? But then, nothing after that. Oh, Lord. What had she done? She couldn’t recall anything more.
God, she’d only ever blacked out once in her life in college. That was fourteen years ago. What the hell was wrong with her?
She heard the front door of the condo rattle open and swing shut. Mark? Was that Mark? Frantically she glanced around the room for her clothes. Where were they? And, more important, did Mark…take them off?
She heard a soft knock on the bedroom door. “Hello?” Mark called.
“Uh…yes?” Laura scrambled to pull the covers up to her chin. Granted, she was wearing a sturdy pair of cotton boy shorts and matching bra with more coverage than most bikinis, but still, she felt vulnerable and exposed.
“Morning, Drinking Beauty,” Mark teased. “I’ve got your clothes here. All laundered.” He backed into the room, not looking at the bed. Did he keep his head turned because he was being a gentleman?
He dropped them on the edge of the bed.
“Why did you wash my clothes?” she asked, stunned.
“You don’t remember?” he asked, back still turned.
“Remember what?”
Mark chuckled low. “Get dressed and come get coffee. Have I got a story to tell you.” He shut the bedroom door behind him, and Laura scrambled to get her clothes. What had she done? Had he…? Had they…? Did they have sex? Why couldn’t she remember?
She felt red flames of embarrassment lick her face. She wasn’t that kind of girl. But she had admitted to an affair. Had he thought she was easy? That she just jumped into bed with anybody? She didn’t, for the record.
