Page 41 of Dangle

And again.

In a move so slow it could have been a video replay, I moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Another wave of sickness washed over me. I fucking hated puking, but it looked like that was on my to-do list for the morning. Probably had been last night. And it was definitely for the best. My stomach was most likely still filled with a massive amount of liquor.

With a quick inhale that I held until my lungs burned, I slowly peeled open my eyes, shielding them with one hand while the other gripped the edge of the mattress. The held breath hissed as it was released when my body refused to hold it any longer. The hand over my eyes fell to grip the edge of the mattress with the other one.

Once I felt like puking and falling flat on my face had been removed from theURGENT!task list, confusion and questions set in.

Where the hell were the guys?

Hell. Where the hell was I?

My gaze swept the space around the bed.

A living space with the best electronics and luxury furnishings.

A large kitchen with top-of-the-line appliances, a massive island with expensive metal and leather barstools.

Definitely not a hotel. Looked more like a high-end loft based on the finishings. A fucking expensive one.

Had I hooked up with someone?

Coach told me to quit acting like a fucking fool, and less than two months later, I’m back to doing just that.

Fuck!

Were there photos?

Frantic anxiety flooded my system, shooting through me like a jolt of electricity. Please don’t let there be any fucking photos or videos. That was the last thing I needed with my dadalwayson my fucking ass and New York questioning whether to keep me or trade me.

Jumping to my feet, I renewed the earlier, half-hearted search for my phone. Ihadto fucking know. Ineededto get ahead of this…

My eyes lit upon the nightstand. A piece of stationery covered in neat block letters lay under an empty highball glass. Next to them sat a six-pack of water bottles still wrapped together in blue shrink wrap, a bottle of ibuprofen, another of acetaminophen, a box of hydration packets, a toothbrush, and toothpaste, both still in the package, some fizzy hangover tablets, and…recovery patches? All of it still wrapped and sealed.

Ignoring my pounding head, I pulled the note out from under the glass.

DON’T PANIC

The items on the nightstand are all brand new and still sealed in the manufacturer’s packaging, so they are safe. While the recovery patches won’t help you this time, the rest of the items will. Take some ibuprofen, a dose of fizzy hangover tablets, and then drink a couple of bottles of water with the hydration packets. You should start feeling better pretty quickly.

In case you don’t remember, my name is Slone. You’re in a private apartment at EDGE, the kink club owned by my friends, Priest and Cam. Their partner owns the Nighthawks. You met them last night at the game. You were too far gone to put into a rideshare, even if you could’ve remembered where the team was staying. I would’ve asked Alex and Aiden, but he’d already taken Aiden home, and he didn’t answer his phone when I called and texted. No worries about where I slept. I slept on the sofa. Thankfully, the open concept allowed me to keep an eye on you without being too intrusive.

As for your belongings…

Your phone is on the charging dock.

Your clothes are in the wash. They might or might not be finished, depending on when you wake up. If they aren’t, there are some joggers, a t-shirt, and a hoodie laid out for you. They should fit.

Sneak out, or stay put. It’s up to you. There’s food in the fridge. The password to the WiFi is EDGENashPH1. The address is on the bottom of the stationery. And I’ve also included my number.

Memories of the day and night before, and the man—Slone, as the note reminded me, as if I could possibly fucking forget the sexy as fuck man I’d been drooling over since the first time I saw him at a game—and how he stepped in when I spiraled. I didn’t know if there were pictures, and if there were…well, then, there were. All that I could do now was mitigate and spin. And it could wait because…

This seemed so weird to admit, but Slone’s voice spoke to me. I didn’t read the note in as much as he spoke it to me in my head as if he stood before me giving a monologue.

And that voice.

Fuck me.

That voice.