Page 47 of Dirty Like Me
Jesse lay sprawled beside me on his back, his gorgeous form skimmed with the faint window light. His face was turned away from me, one arm bent so his hand lay across his muscular chest, the white sheet tangled low around his bare hips.
I clutched the sheet to my chest, carefully running my free hand over my body beneath.
Yep. Definitely naked.
I peeked under the sheet, slowly, moving an inch an hour as I lifted it from his hip, until I could make out his cock. The cock he sent me a dick pic of last night. Not quite as enthusiastic this time, but he did have a decent morning semi going on.
I dropped the sheet like it’d scorched me.
What thefuck??
My skull crackled as I looked around, squinting into the near-dark. I remembered leaving the hotel bar with him. And some kind of argument over the bed?
God, did I do a strip tease for him?
The rest of the night came back in disjointed flashes as I scrambled to piece it together.
We’d ended up at the after party in Dylan’s hotel suite. I remembered having a drink in my hand, and various people refilling it, so I must’ve had several. I could still taste the salt and lime. Margaritas; that’s what Dylan’s buddy Ash kept making. Which would explain my raw tongue and the battery acid churning in my gut.
Ihatedmargaritas.
I remembered Brody announcing that the guys needed to sleep because they all had shit to do in the morning, and Jude kicking people out. But the party kept going. I also vaguely remembered sitting there in the midst of the rowdy energy, the rapid fire conversation, the raucous laughter, and thinking that this would be what life would be like on tour—if I went.
I worked my way to sitting, careful not to disturb the bed or the sheet around Jesse’s hips. The hand on his chest twitched but he didn’t wake. I could remember his hands on my body at various points last night… On my back. On my waist. On my thigh as he sat next to me on the couch.
I let the sheet go. I wasn’t a religious person, but I did a little prayer that Jesse Mayes wouldn’t wake up in the next few seconds to the sight of my bare white ass dashing to the bathroom. Or up in the air as I searched the floor for my clothes.
I found them, one piece at a time. My red dress, flung on the coffee table. My panties just under the bed. My bra on the couch. My lucky leather jacket over near the door.
It was a big suite, like Dylan’s, but I barely remembered walking into it last night.
My hotel room.
Jesse’s hotel room, apparently.
It didn’t quite dawn on me until we were inside it that my roomwashis room, and vice versa.
I don’t get my own room?I’d whirled on him and asked that, incredulous, when it became clear he was heading for the bedroom.
You’re my girlfriend, we share a room. You get a separate room and that shit gets out.
Okay. That did make sense.
Whatever. But I get my own bed.There were two of them, thank God.
But somehow we’d both ended up in the same one.
Got two beds. Which one you use is up to you.
Fuck.
And ugh.
Fugh.
Because it was up to me, wasn’t it?
I slunk off into the bathroom after a failed search for one of my shoes. Shutting the door and turning on the light, I winced as an invisible ax cracked my skull. I gave myself a few moments to adjust, blinking, and held onto the counter for balance. I was bloody dizzy. And dehydrated. I really must’ve been wasted to drink tequila in any amount. Especially after all the beer, champagne and assorted cocktails I’d already put back throughout the night.
