water. It does nothing to flush away the horrible taste in my mouth. I slump back onto my pillow.
I must fall asleep again, because when I wake up I can smell bacon cooking and hear someone moving around in the kitchen.
I stumble to the bathroom and pee like I’ve never peed before. The lure of a warm shower is too much to resist, so I peel off my clothes and stand under the spray until I feel more or less human. I wash my hair and scrub my body, then wrap myself in a towel before brushing my teeth and tongue. Twice.
By the time I’m done, I feel a little better. My head’s still pounding and my stomach is unsettled, but I can function.
I open the bathroom door to find Holt standing there. He takes in my wet hair and my towel-covered body before he makes it back up to my face.
He clears his throat. “Uh … hey.”
“Hey,” I say. It’s so bizarre to see him in my apartment, I wonder if I’m still incredibly drunk.
“I … uh … made you something to eat,” he says and shoves his hands in his pockets.
I frown. “We have no food.”
“I went and bought some. You should eat. It’ll make you feel better.”
“Okay.”
He stands there, towering in the doorway, staring and biting the inside of his cheek.
“Uh, Holt?”
“Hmm?”
“You have to move so I can go to my room and put on some clothes.”
“Oh … right.”
He turns and walks back to the kitchen.
I throw on some sweats and run a brush through my hair. Then I’m sitting at our tiny dining table with Holt. He’s cooked eggs, bacon, and hash browns. There’s a cup of coffee in front of me, along with a glass of orange juice. It’s a truly bizarre situation.
“Uh … wow,” I say. “This is … wow. You … you made hash browns? From scratch?”
“Yeah,” he says and pops some egg into his mouth. “It’s not hard.”
“Maybe not for you. I can’t even boil water without a recipe.”
He’s watching me, and even though my stomach is refusing to get excited about food, I eat.
“Hmm,” I mumble around a mouthful of hash browns and bacon. “This is really good.”
“My mom’s a private chef. She’s taught me stuff.” He shrugs and keeps eating. Every now and then he glances up at me, his eyes dark and unreadable.
When we’re done, he clears the plates as I sip my coffee. I don’t mean to, but I stare at his ass as he washes the dishes.
I shouldn’t stare at his ass. No good can come of it. Still, he’s being nice to me, so I decide to be nice to his ass and allow myself to notice how hot it looks in his jeans.
He turns around to lean against the sink and without planning it, my focus is now firmly on his crotch.
He catches me staring. I grab my coffee and take a huge gulp, but it goes down the wrong way. I choke and cough.
“You okay?”
“Yep.”
Smooth.
No wonder I’ve never had a boyfriend.
“So…” he says, and gestures to my phone on the kitchen bench. “Your roommate called to see how you were and to tell you she’ll be home later.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“She said to ask if she needs to do your laundry for the rest of the month.”
I smile.
Well, I did sexually harass Holt. Even though we didn’t kiss or anything, I wonder if Ruby would count that as making out.
I blush when I think about it.
“Look, Holt, about last night—”
“Yeah, about that,” he says while rubbing his eyes. “What the hell were you thinking, drinking that much? You could have gotten alcohol poisoning.”
“I was”— trying to be something I’m not —”trying to have a good time.”
“Did you have a good time projectile vomiting? Was that fun?”
I shake my head. “For a while I felt good. People were laughing.”
“That’s because you were shitfaced and rubbing yourself on every man in the room.”
“Not every man,” I say defensively. “Only Connor. And … you.”
“Yeah, well, that’s enough,” he mutters. “What’s up with you and Connor, anyway? One minute you’re kissing
I must fall asleep again, because when I wake up I can smell bacon cooking and hear someone moving around in the kitchen.
I stumble to the bathroom and pee like I’ve never peed before. The lure of a warm shower is too much to resist, so I peel off my clothes and stand under the spray until I feel more or less human. I wash my hair and scrub my body, then wrap myself in a towel before brushing my teeth and tongue. Twice.
By the time I’m done, I feel a little better. My head’s still pounding and my stomach is unsettled, but I can function.
I open the bathroom door to find Holt standing there. He takes in my wet hair and my towel-covered body before he makes it back up to my face.
He clears his throat. “Uh … hey.”
“Hey,” I say. It’s so bizarre to see him in my apartment, I wonder if I’m still incredibly drunk.
“I … uh … made you something to eat,” he says and shoves his hands in his pockets.
I frown. “We have no food.”
“I went and bought some. You should eat. It’ll make you feel better.”
“Okay.”
He stands there, towering in the doorway, staring and biting the inside of his cheek.
“Uh, Holt?”
“Hmm?”
“You have to move so I can go to my room and put on some clothes.”
“Oh … right.”
He turns and walks back to the kitchen.
I throw on some sweats and run a brush through my hair. Then I’m sitting at our tiny dining table with Holt. He’s cooked eggs, bacon, and hash browns. There’s a cup of coffee in front of me, along with a glass of orange juice. It’s a truly bizarre situation.
“Uh … wow,” I say. “This is … wow. You … you made hash browns? From scratch?”
“Yeah,” he says and pops some egg into his mouth. “It’s not hard.”
“Maybe not for you. I can’t even boil water without a recipe.”
He’s watching me, and even though my stomach is refusing to get excited about food, I eat.
“Hmm,” I mumble around a mouthful of hash browns and bacon. “This is really good.”
“My mom’s a private chef. She’s taught me stuff.” He shrugs and keeps eating. Every now and then he glances up at me, his eyes dark and unreadable.
When we’re done, he clears the plates as I sip my coffee. I don’t mean to, but I stare at his ass as he washes the dishes.
I shouldn’t stare at his ass. No good can come of it. Still, he’s being nice to me, so I decide to be nice to his ass and allow myself to notice how hot it looks in his jeans.
He turns around to lean against the sink and without planning it, my focus is now firmly on his crotch.
He catches me staring. I grab my coffee and take a huge gulp, but it goes down the wrong way. I choke and cough.
“You okay?”
“Yep.”
Smooth.
No wonder I’ve never had a boyfriend.
“So…” he says, and gestures to my phone on the kitchen bench. “Your roommate called to see how you were and to tell you she’ll be home later.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“She said to ask if she needs to do your laundry for the rest of the month.”
I smile.
Well, I did sexually harass Holt. Even though we didn’t kiss or anything, I wonder if Ruby would count that as making out.
I blush when I think about it.
“Look, Holt, about last night—”
“Yeah, about that,” he says while rubbing his eyes. “What the hell were you thinking, drinking that much? You could have gotten alcohol poisoning.”
“I was”— trying to be something I’m not —”trying to have a good time.”
“Did you have a good time projectile vomiting? Was that fun?”
I shake my head. “For a while I felt good. People were laughing.”
“That’s because you were shitfaced and rubbing yourself on every man in the room.”
“Not every man,” I say defensively. “Only Connor. And … you.”
“Yeah, well, that’s enough,” he mutters. “What’s up with you and Connor, anyway? One minute you’re kissing
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