Page 49 of Dirty Like Me
In front of Jesse Mayes.
I’d turned it into a show when he started clapping and hooting, doing a clumsy drunken dance and flinging my clothes around. I cringed as I suddenly recalled what had happened to my lost shoe.
I’d tossed it in the air, where it got lodged in the ceiling light fixture.
Wonderful.
He’d howled at that smooth move.
When I peeled off my panties, though, the laughter died and his expression darkened.
You get in this bed like that and neither of us is sleeping, cherry pie.
I got in the bed.
Put your panties back on.
What’s the matter? You said you’d be happy to taste my pie.
He’d growled and rolled away, onto the very edge of the bed, as far as he could get without falling on the floor, and covered his head with a pillow.
I’d closed my eyes then, thinking I’d prove I could sleep even if he couldn’t, but that was a mistake.
Ugh. Is your side of the bed spinning?
The bed shook as Jesse got up in an agitated huff and stalked to the other bed. He tore the blankets off that one, got in under the sheet, and buried his head in the pillow.
I got up, went over to his bed and got in.
Fuck, Katie. I’m not sleeping with you naked unless we’re gonna fuck, and we’re not gonna fuck while you’re this drunk. Especially the first time.
First time?Like there would be other times?First time?For some reason that struck me as hilarious, and the last memory I had was of my naked, drunken self, laughing my ass off.
And waking up in the morning with an ax in my skull.
Fuck. Fuck.Fuck.
Did we have sex?
No. No fucking way. I’d know.
Wouldn’t I?
Yes. Absolutely. No way I’d forget that.
Right?
I scanned myself in the mirror. Reasonably presentable.
For a walk of shame.
My hair looked a little ridiculous and desperately in need of a brush, but because it never let me down, my lucky leather jacket coughed up a hair elastic buried in the lining of a pocket. I managed to work my hair into a decent braid. “Get your shit together,” I whispered at my reflection. Then I squared my shoulders and prepared for what was sure to be a humiliating journey home.
When I cracked the bathroom door, Jesse’s body was still flung across the bed. He hadn’t moved. I could hear the slow, deep, throaty rhythm of his breaths.
I glimpsed the dark form on the ceiling that was my shoe, wedged into the light fixture. Clearly, that was a lost cause. No way I could rescue it without standing on Jesse’s face.
I grabbed my purse and slipped out, barefoot.
