Page 19 of Thirst For Me
I slide my hands along the mattress on either side of me, carefully, feeling for a warm body, just in case. But no one’s there. I find the edges of the bed rather quickly, though. It’s a very small bed.
And there it is again: the hammering. It’s not just in my head. It’s an actual hammer, banging away, somewhere above me and off to the right, through the walls.
I look up, squinting painfully into the light. On the wall above me, there’s a bunch of sports pennants with team names I’ve never heard of, maybe from a school.
I push myself up on my hands, disoriented.
The bedsheets are dark blue with patterns of stars on them. Constellations. The kind of sheets you’d find on a kid’s bed.
Where the hell am I?
Did Mason put me up in his little brother’s bed last night? Or—shudder—hisson’sbed?
Does this man have a familyof his own?
Shit ... what if he’s a single dad and his kids now know he brought a drunken floozy home from the bar last night, andI’mthat floozy?
Or maybe they’re used to him bringing drunken floozies home.
I toss the covers off me as I toss away that unpleasant thought, remembering in a sudden rush Mason’s heat and hard muscles covered in silky skin, his strong hands all over me, tingles of warmth and pleasure spreading all over my body, even now. Delicious memories of last night.
Drunken memories.
I struggle to pull morespecificmemories from the murk, then immediately wish I hadn’t. Because Mason is in every one of them, but so am I, and I’m amess.
I remember Mason standing over this bed, speaking to me in a soothing voice.
Mason, trying to tuck me in like I was some overtired child.
Mason saying,I’ll sleep on the couch.
And me, clinging to his arm like a leech and asking him to stay. To sleep withme.
And so he did.
He slept with me in this tiny bed. He also spooned me, because I asked him to.
Actually, I’m pretty sure I begged.
“Ughhh,” I groan aloud.
Too. Much. Alcohol.
Alcohol shouldnottaste that good when I’m in the middle of a life crisis. However, if I learned anything about alcohol in my twenties, it tastesbetterin a life crisis.
At least I’m not naked. I’m fully dressed. In yesterday’s clothes, but still. I’ll take it as a win that I didn’t peel them off and climb all over a virtual stranger, begging him to fuck me.
Maybe I mercifully fell asleep before that could happen.
Or maybe thatdidhappen ... and he said no?
Wait. Did he refuse to kiss me?
Did Iaskhim not to kiss me?
I can’t remember.
I promise, no goodnight kiss.
