Was Bailey always this clumsy, or was this a by-product of how much alcohol she’d consumed? Either way, I had to catch her three times before we managed to exit the club, one of which was a close call after some drunken idiot plowed into her.
We finally made it to the coat check, got our jackets, and burst out onto the street. The din of downtown traffic and cool evening air greeted us, a welcome reprieve from ear-splitting cheesy pop remixes and the scent of sweaty bodies inside. Bailey bit her bottom lip and lingered by the door, hesitating like she was suddenly having second thoughts about leaving with me. But letting her go back into the club in her state was far riskier; she’d be a sitting duck for any creep who came along.
“Let’s walk,” I said, nodding my chin. “The fresh air will be good for you. I can order a ride on the way.”
Ironically, this was the outcome I’d been angling for earlier—going home with her—only minus the fun I’d hoped to have after.
But now that I thought about it, the optics of this situation weren’t great. Taking Derek James’s sister home when she was drunk off her ass would look pretty incriminating, even if my intentions were good.
“Okay.” She trailed beside me until we reached the corner, and I hit the button for the pedestrian crossing signal. A cacophony of horns and sirens echoed in the distance while we waited. The Walk signal illuminated, and I took a step out into the street.
Bailey held up a hand. “Wait.” She closed her eyes and swallowed audibly. Still frozen to the spot, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly between pursed lips.
Please tell me she wasn’t going to puke.
I stepped back up onto the sidewalk. “How much did you drink, anyway?”
She opened her big hazel eyes. Her impossibly long lashes fluttered as she blinked, trying to focus on me. “I dunno.” She shrugged, furrowing her brow. “Two vodka sevens and two shots of tequila? No, three shots. One had something else. Malibu, maybe?”
“You don’t drink much, huh?” I asked.
“What makes you say that?”
“Just a hunch.”
“Not really,” she admitted. “I turned twenty-one yesterday.”
Which means Morrison dumped her on her birthday. No wonder she was so drunk. Nice touch, dickbag. Not that I was surprised.
We resumed walking at a glacial pace while she made a concerted effort to remain upright. Great. At this rate, we would cover approximately one block per hour. Suddenly, a light mist of rain started to fall. Not enough to soak us, but enough to make us damp in that unpleasant, sticky-clothes kind of way.
“We need to get you home.” I pulled out my phone to order a ride. “What’s your address?”
“I’m in the brownstones on—” Bailey stopped short, putting a hand over her mouth. Turning, she gagged and proceeded to throw up in the row of tall green hedges beside her. I pocketed my phone, debating whether I should try to help her somehow or just stay out of her way. Before I could intervene, she straightened, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
“It’s 303 Park Lane,” she finished, staggering slightly. “Near south campus.”
Based on the way she was teetering from side to side like we were on a boat, this wasn’t the last we’d seen of the vomit. I’d bet on it.
“Let’s sit down for a second.” I guided Bailey over to a low wooden bench beneath a set of trees where we’d be partially sheltered from the rain. The instant she sat, she leaned over the side and retched again. Sympathy hit me; I’d been there before, and it sucked.
“Here.” I shifted closer and gathered up her long blond hair, holding it out of the way.
She whimpered something that sounded like “thank you,” but it was hard to tell for sure because it was interrupted by her gagging.
A group of loud, drunken people appeared around the corner. I shifted my body to block Bailey from their line of sight as they drew closer, trying to give her some semblance of privacy. Or at least as much privacy as one could have while vomiting on a public street.
“Are you—” I paused while she dry-heaved. “Are you okay?”
Usually, I was the recipient of that question. Things had gotten dire when I was the chaperone.
“I think so,” Bailey mumbled, pulling herself upright with my help. Once I was convinced she had her bearings, I let her go, and she immediately stumbled.
I wrapped my arm around her waist. “Do you want me to call your brother?”
Her eyes widened. “No. He would freak if he saw me like this. Especially with you.”
Good point.
Bailey fumbled around in her tiny black purse, emerging with a package of tissues and gum. She wiped her face and popped a piece into her mouth without offering me one, which was probably for the best; I had a feeling she was going to throw up again and need it for herself.
As we shuffled down the second street, the rain began to fall in earnest, soaking through our clothes. Her place was a good twenty-minute drive away. She wouldn’t make it that long in a car without emptying the remaining contents of her stomach on the floor. And if we kept up this pace, we would be drenched by the time we got there.
“Come on,” I said, steering her by the arm and changing directions. My place was five minutes away. It was the only option. At least until she stopped throwing up.
But then what? I couldn’t put her in a rideshare in this condition. Escorting her to her place on campus at this time of night wasn’t viable either, especially after crushing Callingwood in tonight’s game. There would be angry, drunken Bulldogs fans prowling campus, and I needed my limbs in working condition.
“Come on where?”
“You asked me to go home with you. So that’s what we’re doing. We’re going to my place.”
Bailey frowned. “Oh. Right.” She fell quiet for a moment. “Then can we have sex?”
“I prefer my companions sober enough to actually remember our encounter the next day,” I said dryly.
“I’m fine, I just…” She stopped and clutched my arm. She threw up again, but this time, she didn’t turn away fast enough. She missed the bushes, splattering my shoes a little in the process. One of the shots must have been blue. Lovely.
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s a no.”
“I can rally.”
“Look.” I spun her around to face me.
She peered back up at me innocently, her lips in a small pout. Somehow, she was still super hot.
“There is no scenario where that is happening tonight.”
Another night would be a different story. I wasn’t sure what it said about me, but even after seeing her vomit a night’s worth of drinks curbside, I would totally hit it. From on top, from behind, you name it.
“But you sleep with anyone with a pair of boobs.”
“Well, that’s not entirely—”
Her pout deepened. “Am I not pretty enough for you? You seemed to think so earlier.”
“You’re very pretty,” I said, fighting a smile. “And I didn’t say never. I said not tonight. Not while you’re in this condition. When we hook up—if we hook up—you’ll want to remember it.”
“Hmm. You are really hot.” Bailey sighed dreamily and ran her hands up and down my torso, probing the muscles beneath my shirt.
My cock perked up in response. But sadly, his services wouldn’t be needed this evening.
“It’s a shame you’re such a jerk.” She lost her balance and teetered to the side.
I caught her around the waist to stop her from falling off the curb as a car whizzed past. “It’s a shame you’re so rude.”
“More like honest.”
“Do you always lack a filter, or is this the booze talking?”
She tilted her head back and laughed. “I have no idea.” After a moment, her expression turned serious, inquisitive. With limpid eyes fixed on mine, probing, she asked, “Are you as good as everyone says?”
I shrugged. “You’ve seen me play.”
“That’s not what I mean.” She dropped her voice to a stage whisper. “I meant in bed.”
She sure knew how to stroke a guy’s ego. Too bad it was the only thing getting stroked tonight.
“Ah. I guess you’ll have to find that out for yourself another time.”
After an eventful stroll home that took twenty minutes longer than it should have, peppered with small talk and sexual requests that made even me blush, we arrived at the house I shared with Dallas and Tyler.
“Wow, this is fancy,” she said, gaping at the modern gray stucco structure. “How do you swing this? Wealthy family?”
Kind of, but I wasn’t. Dallas’s family, however, was fucking loaded. Hence the sweet digs. I carefully guided Bailey up the three stairs leading to the front door.
“Something like that.”
I unlocked the door and pushed it open with my hip while holding Bailey upright with one arm. She stumbled inside, tossing her coat on the floor. Then she flopped down beside the entry mat and unbuckled the straps on her high heels. When she’d wrestled both shoes off, she stood up, barefoot.
Her shoulders heaved with a weary sigh. “I want to go to sleep.”
“Right away,” I promised. “But you can’t sleep in that.” I nodded at her outfit. It was damp from the rain, and like my shoes, her white tank top had fallen victim to the blue vomit splash incident.
She was a hot mess. Literally.
“I don’t have anything else to wear, though.” Bailey frowned.
“Give me a sec.” We made our way upstairs, and I led her into my bedroom. I flipped a switch in the attached bathroom so we could see without being blinded by the overhead light. Any of my bottoms would probably fall right off her tiny waist, so a T-shirt was all I had to offer.
Pulling open the top drawer, I grabbed a well-worn red Falcons tee and handed it to her. Sure, I had other shirts. But giving her this felt like a taste of retribution against that dick Morrison.
“Here,” I said. “You can change in the bathroom. Washcloths are under the sink if you need one. And mouthwash.”
Bailey froze on the spot, staring at the bed. She turned to face me, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. “Are you going to sleep in the bed too?”
She looked awfully scandalized for someone who’d asked if she could sit on my face twenty minutes ago.
“Well, yeah. The other bedrooms belong to Dallas—who’s probably in there with Shiv—and Tyler. And, for reasons I won’t get into, I wouldn’t touch that with a ten-foot pole. And I don’t fit on our couch.” I gestured to myself with one hand, waving an open palm from my head down, as if to illustrate my height. “But you can sleep there if you want. I’ll warn you, though, it’s not comfortable.”
Dallas’s stupid modern square-shaped sectional looked cool, but it had these weird immovable armrests and was about as comfortable as a bag of rocks. My ass always ached after playing video games on that thing.
“I don’t know…” Bailey chewed her bottom lip. Her gaze darted between the bed and me like she was performing some kind of mental risk calculation.
“I can assure you; I’m not going to try anything.”
“Okay.” She yawned, rubbing her eyes. “I trust you. I don’t know why, but I do.”
“I’ll go grab you a water.”
By the time I returned from the kitchen, glass of water in hand, she had changed into my shirt and was on top of the covers, passed out cold diagonally. Snoring.
BAILEY
Light flooded through the gaps in the curtains, growing progressively brighter. I was thirsty beyond belief. Every muscle in my body was sore, as if I’d just run a marathon. And my head pounded like someone was beating me with a hockey stick.
I groaned and pulled the covers over my head, trying to block out the light—and reality. If I could get back to sleep, maybe I’d wake up later and realize all of this had been a bad dream. What time was it, anyway? I cracked one eye open to discover I was hiding beneath a dark gray duvet, not white like mine…and it smelled like cologne.
Really delicious cologne.
Where the hell was I?
Pieces of last night came back to me slowly. Luke blowing me off at the game, hitting the club with Zara and Noelle, running into Chase Carter…Oh my god—Carter. I threw off the covers and let out a gasp. I was wearing a crimson Falcons T-shirt.
The uniform of the enemy.
I squeezed my eyes shut, slowly counting to five. Maybe I was hallucinating from all the stress. I opened one eye and peeked at my surroundings. Sadly, I was still in the same place: Chase Carter’s bedroom. No, not his bedroom. His sex dungeon.
Fine, it didn’t look like a sex dungeon, not that I’d know what one looked like. The walls were a crisp, clean white, and the soft cotton sheets and comforter were charcoal gray. There was a small flatscreen TV mounted on the wall, a glass computer desk with a laptop, and an acoustic guitar leaning in the corner. All in all, it was clean and minimalist. It didn’t scream fraternity guy like I’d expected. Actually, it was nicer than Luke’s bedroom.
But I wasn’t the first girl, nor would I be the last, to wake up here. I was probably customer number 238, with a line around the block to take my place. Take a ticket and get in line, ladies.
“Good morning, sleeping beauty.” Chase appeared in the doorway and leaned against the frame, clutching a black mug in his hands. He was freshly showered and wearing fitted gray joggers and a white V-neck T-shirt, with his dark hair still damp. And damn, did he look hot—like an athletic wear model or something equally appealing.
I didn’t want to know what I looked like. I knew it wasn’t good. Or appealing.
He nodded at my shirt. “Red suits you.”
I pulled myself upright, yanking the covers up to my chin. I was in a T-shirt and underwear. His T-shirt wasn’t that long on me, either. No pants. Not even shorts. Did that mean we had sex? Oh, no. No, no, no.
Nausea roiled through me, and not from the hangover.
“Did we…?” I asked, too embarrassed to finish my sentence. He shook his head. “No.”
I eyed him warily, hyperaware of my bare bottom half beneath the blanket. Did he sleep next to me under the covers last night? Did his butt graze my butt? Did I snore? Oh my god.
“I don’t take advantage of drunk girls.” Chase pushed off from the doorframe and took a few long strides over to stand at the foot of the bed.
My breath stilled, heart accelerating. Somehow, I felt extra-undressed with him so close to me.
“Though in this case,” he added, “I think it was you who tried to take advantage of me, James.”
“You know my last name?”
“Of course,” he said. “You tried to get in my pants.”
“I did what?” I frowned, mentally replaying last night’s events. The beginning of the evening was fairly clear, but then it got increasingly blurry. Either way, I didn’t do that. “No, you’re the one who was hitting on me with all your lame airport innuendos.”
“That was before you got blackout drunk. You came back later and found me. Cockblocked me in the process, I might add.” He raised a brow pointedly. “Then you wanted to go home, but it wasn’t safe to let you leave alone in the state you were in, so I brought you back here. Nothing happened.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Are you sure?”
“We didn’t have sex. We didn’t even kiss.”
“Thanks…I guess.” I grumbled. Chase Carter, perfect gentleman? Who knew?
“Oh, don’t thank me.” His lips quirked. “You made for fascinating conversation on the walk home.”
My stomach leapt into my throat. “What did I say?” I didn’t drink often, and for good reason. When I was under the influence, I tended to blab to anyone who would listen. My life story, my innermost secrets, it was all up for grabs. It didn’t take much to get to that point, either, because I was a total lightweight.
“You’ve got quite the mouth on you. Made some very explicit requests.” Chase smirked and took a sip of his coffee before he continued. “Sounds like Morrison wasn’t exactly keeping up his end of the bargain in the bedroom.”
I wanted to crawl back under the covers. Or maybe die. Dying sounded pretty good right now.
“But no, I didn’t take you up on your many colorful offers. It might have been tempting, if not for the fact that you could barely walk straight. And you threw up on my shoes.”
I cringed. “I’m sorry. I’ll pay to replace them.”
“Don’t worry about it. I think I got most of it off.” He nodded to the foot of the bed, where my skirt and tank top lay neatly folded. “And your clothes are there. I washed them.”
“You didn’t have to—”
“Oh, trust me, I did. Otherwise, this place would have reeked of vomit and Malibu.”
