Page 18 of Blitz

She shuffles around until she gets comfortable. I content myself by running my hand over her hair, thick and coarse. It’s as familiar as the rhythmic sound of her alcohol-induced snuffles. She burrows into me.

And I let her. Because I’m a sucker for her. Anything she asks of me, I’ll do it without hesitation.

I stare up at the ceiling. Her phone call woke me up from a dead sleep, but I’m wide awake now. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to sleep again. The rich citrus scent of her perfume wafts over me, lulling me into a false sense of security. It’ll be okay. It’ll work out.

Crawling into bed with my drunk ex-girlfriend isn’t the single worst decision of my life. I’ll probably never be able to sleep in this bed again without smelling her, remembering her. The one place I was sure she would never be has been infiltrated by her, and I can’t decide if I would rather have her here or if I wish she never stepped foot on this campus. I’m caught in limbo, and I don’t see a way out.

Chapter eight

Mason

I wake up disoriented. That’s the first bad sign. I don’t recognize the room I’m in. That’s the second. My head is pounding and my mouth is as dry as the Sahara. And there’s the holy trinity of stupid drunken decisions.

There’s a man in the bed beside me. My heart skips a beat. Peeking beneath the covers at myself, I’m fully clothed, wearing leggings and a bra beneath my shirt. I’m still wearing my socks.

I let out a sigh of relief. This seems to rouse whoever’s bed I crashed in.

“Mm... Mason.”

A strong arm slides around my waist, tugging me back against a warm, thick body. Soft lips brush my exposed neck where my braid has fallen apart. There’s a morning erection pressing into my backside.

King.

Oh, no. No, no, no. This can’t be happening.

Gingerly, I disentangle our limbs. He lets out a whine of protest. He clutches at thin air, and I shove a pillow into his arms. He nuzzles into the pillow, petting it like he pet my hair last night.

“Mase.”

He’s still asleep. He’s dreaming about me?! I don’t know how to feel about this. He came to my rescue last night when I needed him most. He dropped his Saturday night plans to be by my side. I don’t know how I can ever thank him for getting me home safely and securely last night. I don’t remember much, but from what I can piece together, I was definitely out of it. It could have been dangerous.

My head throbs. I definitely overindulged last night. I don’t usually mix beer and liquor. I know better. If nothing else, my time at Georgetown taught me how to handle my alcohol. There’s a trash can on the floor beside the bed. I’m glad I didn’t need it last night.

The good thing about Athlete’s Village is all the houses are laid out the same. It’s easy enough to find the Jack and Jill bathroom he shares with the room next door. I open the door and come face to face with a naked guy. Peeing. Completely naked.

At the sound of the door creaking open, he looks over at me and yelps. Still peeing.

He’s tall and wide and so, so naked. His pasty white skin is covered in freckles. There is more flesh on display than I’ve ever seen at one time. I’m so stunned, I don’t know what to do. I try to close the door and succeed only in jamming it against my toe. Shit. Now it’s my turn to yelp. He continues to pee, now with a panicked look on his face. His aim is… not good.

There are heavy footsteps behind me. Tucker is there in an instant, his hand on my arm.

“Are you okay?” His voice is thick from sleep, hoarse and husky.

“Get out,” the naked guy screeches. He’s still peeing.

Tucker forcibly removes me from the threshold and shuts the door behind us. “Sorry, B,” he calls out. He looks down at me, concern in his eyes. “How are you feeling?”

I clear my throat. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, okay.” He looks me over. I’m sure I’m a hot mess. Last night’s clothes wrinkled, my makeup all over my face, my hair falling out of its protective braid. I don’t need a mirror to know I look fabulous right now.

“I should go home.”

“That’s probably a good idea.”

His dark eyes are hard, his jaw clenched tight. None of this distracts me from the morning erection tenting the front of his sweatpants, glorious and thick. I can see the head of his dick outlined in stark relief. I wonder what he would do if I dropped to my knees right now and tasted him. I almost wish I could find out.

“It’ll go away,” he says, his voice as rough as gravel. “It happens in the morning.”