“Morning, Bris.”
I clench my eyes closed and silently curse, dread lining my stomach. Or maybe that’s nausea. There’s a bass drum banging in my head, and I could vomit on my Egyptian cotton sheets any minute now. I struggle to bring the room into focus as the details swim in front of me. This is the worst scenario. I could have had meaningless sex with a stranger, but nooooo. Instead, I had meaningless sex with the man who has been obsessed with the idea of marrying me since we were ten years old. Meaningless sex that will mean something to him.
Oh, this will end marvelously.
“Parker?” I ask tentatively.
“I hope so.” His husky laugh blows the hair at my neck. “Last night was amazing, Bristol. Even better than before.”
“Before” set a low bar from what I recall. The orgasm I had in that coat check was the only time Parker got me off. And I think the threat of getting caught probably helped a lot then. After that, I touched myself more than he did every time we had sex. A girl’s gotta DIY when he isn’t getting it done. The story of my sex life.
I bet Grip would get it done.
Since when did my vagina start talking back to me? Maybe I’m still drunk. I hope so. God, please let this be a drunken hallucination. Parker’s fingers wandering between my legs confirms it’s happening.
“Um, Parker.” I turn over, pulling the sheets over my naked breasts. “Last night is kind of hazy. I’m not sure how we . . . did we . . . you know.”
“Fuck?”
Blond hair falls into his blue eyes brimming with laughter. He looks good in the morning. I remember that now, but it doesn’t make up for how overbearing he is the other twenty-three hours of the day.
“Uh, yeah.” My cheeks fire up. I’m blushing? Apparently, even I have some shame. Remembering who was inside you last night must be one of my standards.
“Yes, we fucked.” He leans over to kiss my neck. “We took the jet back from Vegas.”
“I thought we took a helicopter?”
How drunk was I?
“We took a helicopter there and the Park Hotel jet back.” He kisses my shoulder. “We kissed in the car."
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. This is worse than I thought.
“And then we came here and made love." His hand explores under the sheet, gripping my thigh and pulling my knee over his hip. “You still give the best head, Bris.”
Oh. Dear. God.
Do I still have disposable toothbrushes? No way I’m using my electric. I assumed my tongue felt furry and sticky from too much alcohol. Apparently Parker’s dick was down my throat last night. I don’t typically swallow, but I also don’t typically sleep with Parker. I want to purge the contents of my stomach just in case. I want to purge the contents of last night. To make it go away, flush it down the toilet like it never happened. All signs indicate it did happen, though. And from Parker’s growing erection, he thinks it will happen again. Not when I have all my faculties.
I roll out of the bed, and it feels like my head keeps rolling. Dizziness assaults me, and I stumble back to the mattress. I look over my shoulder to find Parker watching me intently.
"You okay, Bris?"
Do I look fucking okay?
I nod as much as my pounding head will allow, grabbing the sheet and wrapping it toga style to cover my nakedness.
“Parker, I hate to rush you off," I lie. "But I have an appointment this morning.”
He looks at me like I’ve disenfranchised him somehow. Like it’s his inalienable right to screw me before breakfast.
“Re-schedule or—”
“No, sorry. This is can’t-miss.”
I shuffle to the bathroom, making sure the sheet covers the vital parts even though he’s seen and sampled them all. When I look back, he’s propped against my tufted headboard like he has all the time in the world, sheet down to his waist, hands folded behind his head.
“You should probably get going.” I lean into the arched doorway of the bathroom. “I’m going to shower and then I’ll be leaving, so . . .”
“You kicking me out?” His smirk works my last remaining nerve.
“Yes, Parker. I’m kicking you out. Men don’t normally sleep at my house, and if I hadn’t been plastered out of my mind, you wouldn’t be here this morning.”
The smirk dies, collapsing into a flat line.
“You’re not implying that I took advantage of you somehow, are you?”
“Imply?” I shake my head. “I’m saying I’m disappointed you had sex with me knowing I was drunk and maybe not fully . . . aware.”
I've known Parker literally my whole life. As slimy as he can be, I don't want to think he would drug me, but was I that drunk? To remember nothing? Everything after we arrived in Vegas is a blank sheet of paper, and as hard as I try, I can't sketch any details. I wanted a good martini. That's all. I know I had no intention of sleeping with Parker. Even drunk I can't imagine allowing this, wanting this. I've come as close as I can to an accusation without actually making it, but based on Parker's heavy scowl, it's close enough.
“Bristol, you were completely willing, and we did use protection, if that’s your next question.”
It was, but I still see a visit to my doctor in the very near future.
“I don’t doubt that.” Even sighing makes my head spin a little. “But we haven’t had sex in over a decade, and you think the night I’m drunk is the night to get reacquainted?”
He climbs out of my bed, less modest than I was, not bothering to cover up. He’s in good shape, but his dick is as underwhelming as I remember. I avert my eyes, embarrassed for him. Embarrassed for myself. No wonder it doesn’t feel like I had sex last night.
“I know you’re having a rough morning,” Parker says as he steps into his pants. “So I’ll excuse that. When can I see you again?”
“I think we should slow this down.” I run fingers through the tangled hair hanging past my shoulders. “I didn’t, um . . . anticipate any of this. I’m not in the market for a relationship right now.”
“This is happening, Bristol.” He buttons up his shirt, his eyes never leaving my face. “It's always been obvious that we’re perfect for each other. Last night only solidified it.”
“Forgive me for not agreeing since I don’t remember much about last night.” I turn into the bathroom. “We’ll talk more later. Could you lock up on your way out?”
I don’t wait for his response before closing the bathroom door and slumping against it, barely able to meet my own eyes in the mirror. Shame, frustration, disappointment swirl in my belly, joining the nausea. I feel violated, and as much as I want to put all the blame on Parker, there's really no one to blame but myself. I blink at the disheveled, puffy-eyed girl in the mirror who has tears filling her eyes.
"Bristol," I say to her. "What the fuck?"
After a few more moments of self-castigation, I start my shower. I wonder what time it is, but I left my phone in the bedroom. At least I presume that’s where I left it. Hopefully, it isn’t lost somewhere between here and Vegas. I have this appointment downtown, then errands, and then the Prodigy lunch at Rhyson’s.
God, facing Grip after sleeping with Parker. Not that I haven’t slept with other guys before, but the other night on the roof, our conversation in the hall yesterday, the confrontation in the club last night—we haven’t talked this openly about what’s between us in years, and now everything feels right at the surface.
An hour later, YSL Roadie bag on my shoulder and feeling only slightly more like myself, I walk into Chelle’s, the high-end jewelry store I stumbled across downtown. Black skinny jeans ripped at the knee, black cashmere T-shirt, a knee-length camel-colored cardigan duster and nude ankle strap sandals. Hopefully no one will notice that I’m woefully in need of a pedicure. My head remains under attack, so I couldn’t endure the blow dryer. My still-damp hair is scooped up into a top knot that I hope looks somewhat intentional. I wait until the last possible second to remove my sunglasses. My intolerance for sunlight is near-vampiric.