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AMANDA
Iblinked my eyes open as the sunlight filtered through the curtains. An insistent buzzing in my head made me think there was a bee trapped in my skull, wanting out. I rolled over on the cool sheets only to realize that I was naked as the day I was born.
If I ever had the urge to curse, it would beright now.
I sat up quickly, the duvet falling over my naked body as memories of what happened last night assailed me. Images flashed in my head—drawing the red thong from Dan’s car, crying in the Lucky George, drinking something I could vaguely remember the name of…
Oliver taking me out of the bar and getting me home safely… listening to me as I recounted how I found out Dan had been cheating on me…
Before I straddled him and kissed him…
Then dragged him up to my room where I pushed him to the bed and basicallyusedhim in the crudest sense of the word.
I groaned and fell back on the bed as an insistent pounding attacked my brain, compounded by the absolute misery over what I had done.
How could I do that to Oliver? He only ever had my best interests at heart and I selfishly used him to get over my grief!
I wanted to just bash my head on the wall. Maybe, it would get rid of this excruciating hangover, as well as end all my other problems with Dan and Oliver.
Drinking was a mistake. Using Oliver as a Band-Aid over the gaping wound in my heart was thebiggermistake.
Huge.
If only I hadn’t drunk too much!I berated myself in complete and utter misery.I have to fix things, make things right. I need to talk to Oliver.
I put on my pajamas and rushed downstairs, hoping to find Oliver still in the house. I hadn’t even tied my hair or washed my face yet. I was pretty sure I looked like a total mess with my hair all over the place and traces of last night’s makeup still on my face.
I hadn’t even bothered to properly wash it all off before I fell asleep, but I was drunk out of my mind. Besides, skipping out on cleansing was the least of my mistakes from last night.
I was halfway down the stairs when I was assailed by the lovely smell wafting frommyown kitchen. My stomach rumbled as if in appreciation. I slowed down for a moment as my eyes widened in recognition.
Are those… pancakes?
They smelledexactlythe way I remembered when Oliver’s mom made pancakes, and Ilovedher pancakes. In my opinion, Mrs. Compton made the best pancakes, hands down, and I often found excuses to wander into their home on weekends when I knew she would be making her special pancakes.
Yeah, weight watching wasn’t a thing back then.
I walked to the kitchen, stopping by the door frame when I saw Oliver dressed in his clothes from last night, his back turned to me as he worked at the stove. Buddy sat at his feet, tongue lolling out in eager anticipation. In spite of the hangover I was suffering, I couldn’t help but smile at the scene before me.
It just felt sodomestic.
“Let’s see if I still remember how to do this right, Bud,” he told my dog, who barked back in reply. He wiggled the pan for a while to loosen the pancake and then flipped the pancake in the air.
Only to have it land spectacularly on the floor. Buddy was on it in mere seconds, being the good, alert,appreciativedog he was.
Oh, I could literally see his loyalty right there with the way he looked up at Oliver like the man hung the moon and the stars in the sky.
Oliver laughed, the sound doing something funny to my insides. “Thanks, Buddy. Grown men need to clean up after themselves, too.”
Buddy barked enthusiastically. No doubt, he was waiting for Oliver to fail again just so he could have another pancake. He was supportive like that, I guess.
I didn’t know how long I stood there, watching Oliver make pancakes, laughing when another one fell before his muscle memory kicked in and he finally managed to flip the third one successfully. I just wanted to stay there and watch him, listen to him laugh and talk to Buddy as he made breakfast.
I had always loved his laugh, even back in high school. It was that rich, deep sound, coupled with that twinkle in his eyes that drew me in. Hook, line, and sinker. It still made me feel just a little bit weak in the knees, so I leaned onto the frame for some support.
Or was it just my hangover?
He had always been a very special man, as Grandma Margaret pointed out to me. What man would rescue you from a drunken night at the bar and make you pancakes in the morning after you practically used him the night before?
