Page 43 of Double Play
I blink a few times, trying to reorient myself with the real world. When I shift into a seated position, my whole body complains. Andres is sitting on the bench at the foot of the bed, staring at me like I’m a wounded animal.
“Fuck,” I whisper.
“Morning,” he says quietly, but I don't miss the worry in his voice.
I make a sound that’s supposed to be a greeting and it comes out like a dying animal. Andres lifts his head, and those gorgeous brown eyes of his are soft, but there’s a sharpness to them. The kind he gets when he’s holding back a lecture because he doesn’t want to scare me, but he’s scared himself.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
I swallow and my stomach turns once. My head pounds.
“Like I got hit by a bus,” I chuckle weakly.
Andres's jaw tightens and his gaze pans over to the nightstand, where my phone glows faintly with my numbers on the screen. I reach for it and squint.
168 with a steady arrow.
Not perfect. High for morning but not dangerous.
“Could be worse,” I mutter.
Andres exhales like he’s been holding his breath since yesterday.
“You could’ve not been here,” he says quietly. Then he crawls up the bed, situates himself beside me, and grabs my hand. His thumb starts moving, slow circles, like he’s trying to soothe both of us.
I look up for a minute and stare at the ceiling, feeling the aftermath. The crash. The hangover. The humiliation that always follows, like my body is embarrassed it betrayed me in public.
And then I hear it.
Voices.
Not the TV. And way too close to be neighbors.
Voices in our apartment.
I freeze. “Are we being robbed?”
Andres's head turns and his mouth twitches.
“No, baby,” he says. “We’re not being—wait, you think I’d be lying in bed with you if there were a burglar in our house?”
“I mean… maybe?” I frown. “Then why are there… people in our living room?”
Andres presses a quick kiss to my shoulder. “Because you scared everyone yesterday.”
“Dre… it’s not like I did it on purpose.”
“Still,” he murmurs.
The voices get clearer when I sit up, and the first one I hear is Kai’s, low and intense. Isla’s softer but firm voice follows. Gael’s calm drawl and Adriana’s laugh, which is sharp at the edges like she’s trying to keep it light and failing.
They’re all here, in our apartment.
At seven o'clock in the morning, my first instinct is to sink back under the covers and pretend I’m dead. My second instinct is to go see what the hell is happening because my name is probably being tossed around like a football. I swing my legs over the side of the bed. My body protests immediately. Andres follows, watching me like he’s ready to catch me if I wobble.
“I’m fine,” I say automatically, waving him off.
He raises one eyebrow.
