Opposites Attract: The complete box set

by Higginson, Rachel

  PTSD crashed hard all around me. I’d been in situations like this before—waking up with a fuzzy recollection of the night before, sharing a bed with a virtual stranger. And then the last time… that last night when I’d woken up alone with no memory of the night before and no clothes on… God, I felt like puking just thinking about it.

  Too chicken shit to turn around and risk waking up the mystery man next to me, I scrunched my eyes closed and tried to remember again what had happened.

  The cooking.

  The drinking.

  The rehearsal.

  The drinking.

  The eating.

  The more drinking.

  The dancing.

  Oh, god, the dancing.

  That’s when the shots had come out.

  My gasp of realization burst out of my mouth like a gunshot through the silent room. The man to my left stirred, pulling me tighter against his solid body.

  I let my imagination take form while I registered that the man behind me was fit, firm… fabulously muscled. His chest was a toned wall of masculinity, his forearm wrapped around my middle evidence of tanned, perfect skin. His tapered waist, tucked against my bum—we didn’t need to think about how nice that felt right now.

  Or ever.

  Ahem.

  Starting now.

  I started back at the beginning of the night once more, hoping the more awake I became, the clearer my memories would become.

  Vann and I cooking.

  Vann and I drinking while cooking.

  Vann and I walking down the aisle together, the first groomsman and bridesmaid of the group.

  Vann and I sneaking glasses of champagne while Vera and Killian worked out the kinks of the ceremony.

  Vann and I making flirty eyes through the meal, meeting up halfway through to congratulate each other on our excellent appetizers.

  Vann and I hanging out at to the bar, laughing, talking, teasing.

  Vann and I dancing.

  Wyatt giving Vann and I shots of tequila.

  Toasting the happy couple with more drinks.

  More dancing. With Vann.

  Vann. Oh my god, Vann. That’s who I was with now. That’s whose apartment I was in. That’s whose arm was wrapped around my middle.

  I slid to my stomach, grabbing a few inches of space between us and buried my face in the pillow.

  Bad idea! It smelled like him.

  Struggling to remember the dirtier details of the night, I found that I couldn’t put them in the right order or give them any clarity. They were a mess of muddled memories. His hands around my waist, pulling me against his naked body. Tripping over my shorts as I tried to step out of them. My shoe abandoned in the hallway. Gasping for breath. In the best way. But that was the only, paper-thin memory I could grasp. The rest all flitted away, dried leaves in a brisk breeze.

  Fuck.

  I had to get out of here.

  Good thing I was a total pro at the morning after—even if I was a little rusty after six years of celibacy. My hangover pressed down on my limbs, making them weak and heavy. Still, I managed to push into a partial plank and slip over the side of the bed without making a sound.

  Of course, if Vann were to wake up, I would look like a hungover ninja with yesterday’s makeup streaked all over my face.

  Probably not the vision of loveliness he would be expecting.

  Popping my head up, I looked for my cellphone on the nightstand, but it was nowhere to be seen. Crap.

  I had a vague memory of using an Uber to get here. No worries, I could Uber home. I was an Uber pro.

  Assuming I could find my phone.

  To be honest, this was not the first time I’d army-crawled through a man’s bedroom before the sun came up. I had a few wild years under my belt. Er, maybe more than a few.

  Culinary school might as well have been a nunnery. I gave it all up. The boys. The partying. The binge drinking. The drugs. Especially the drugs. The random hookups with assholes.

  The accepting drinks from assholes when origins were unknown.

  Dropping my head to the wood flooring, I took a minute to collect myself. I hated thinking back on those days. I hated remembering the girl I used to be and the mistakes I made.

  I had been a total and complete fool. And a mess. The worst part, was that when it all came crashing down, I wasn’t even surprised. By that point it had felt inevitable.

  My therapist assured me that it wasn’t my fault. And that blaming myself for what happened was natural. But it also felt logical. If I put myself in stupid situations weren’t stupid things bound to happen?

  A wave of nausea washed over me. I swallowed quickly, the reverse action to puking. I’d read once that it was supposed to stop the mouth-tingling feeling and calm your stomach when in danger of retching.

  Five full minutes of struggling to swallow with a mouth that felt stuffed with cotton balls, the sickening feeling passed. God, was I really here again? In this same, alcohol-soaked-morning-after hell?

  I had promised myself, on my twenty-first birthday, that enough was enough. It was time to get my life together. It was time to never wake up with fear again. It was time to move on from all those things in my past that had fucked me up, and use them to make me into something great.

  Which I mostly had.

  Until tonight, when I’d jumped off the cliff of sanity and sobriety into the backsliding pits of party girl hell all over again.

  Don’t get me wrong, I loved to hang out with my friends and drink and have a good time. But I also liked to stay in complete control.

  And nowhere in my game plan for a new and improved life had I included sleeping with my friend’s brother.

  Oh. My. God.

  I grabbed stray pieces of my clothing off the floor as I moved quietly from the bedroom. But by the time I reached the kitchen near the front door, my bra was nowhere to be found.

  No worries—I had more at home.

  I covered my eyes again as I stifled a panic attack. Leaving my bra at a complete stranger’s house when I snuck out was one thing. I would likely never run into them again. They could hang my underthings on their hookup shrine for all I cared. Or hand it off to a new girlfriend. Or burn it in effigy or whatever.

  But leaving lingerie at a man’s house I was going to have to see again, namely later today, was… awful.

  Good grief, this whole thing was just dumb. Why? Why had I let things get this out of control?

  It was that stupid crush, I realized. He’d been so charming lately. And helpful. And for a split second, I thought I needed someone to take care of me.

  Or at least I wanted someone to.

  It was just that… I was so tired of being the only one in charge of my life. Especially when I got it wrong so often.

  Damn, there were so many important decisions to make and so many things to do and now I was in charge of a whole kitchen and Vann had been so wonderful when I’d needed him and… now I couldn’t even remember last night! Why couldn’t I remember? What had happened? What had… breathe, Dillon. Freaking breathe. A panic attack wasn’t going to do anyone any favors right now.

  I found my purse on the counter with my cellphone miraculously inside. There was even enough battery left to order an Uber.

  Vann made a sleepy sound from the other room, causing me to jump out of my skin and glance toward his room. He was still in the very center of the bed, sleeping diagonally across it. One of his arms was splayed wide where I used to be and the other covered the top of his face. The sheet draped over his important bits, leaving the rest of his gloriously sculpted body on display. Dang, this guy took care of himself.

  Those thoughts pulled my attention around the rest of the apartment. The design scheme was clearly male. The biggest TV I had ever seen took up one wall, between two ceiling-high windows, flanked by a stationary bike on one side and a treadmill on the other. Along that same wall was a row of dumbbells. The L-shaped sectional in the middle of the room was a monstrosity
of overstuffed worn leather. There was a novel on the coffee table with a bookmark sticking out of it.

  God, that shouldn’t have made me want to crawl back in bed with him, but it did.

  Three different bikes hung on the wall closest to the door. They were mounted in an artistic way, but by the look of the beaten tires and beat-up frames, I could tell they were used.

  And used often.

  “Cycle life,” I whispered to myself. “It really is a lifestyle.”

  The kitchen was more of the same health-nut practicality. An expensive blender nestled next to an air fryer and a giant Tupperware container full of homemade granola mix. A huge container of protein powder sat next to the sink.

  Aside from his affinity for being healthy, I liked the way he’d set his place up. It felt more comfortable than mine—more homey.

  He clearly used this place.

  Er, obviously.

  But I meant his home was lived in. He worked out here. He made meals here. He made messes.

  My apartment was the stop along the way. I used my bed. And my shower. And sometimes I cooked a meal. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d bothered with the TV though.

  With my phone in one hand and my shoes in the other, I took a moment by the door to admire the apartment one more time and the man that lay cluelessly in bed.

  He had been equally as drunk as me, right?

  There would be an awkward moment tomorrow when we had to face each other and remember what had happened. I needed to make an appointment with my therapist stat. But then I’d be able to move on. We’d be able to move on.

  Maybe he’d even bring me my bra.

  Maybe we’d be able to laugh about it and swear off tequila shots with Wyatt. Never again.

  Maybe we’d be able to part as friends.

  I slipped out the front door, ignoring the pang of hope in my gut as I made my way down the stairwell to the ground floor. It mixed with nausea as despair followed quickly on its heels. Did I even want to be friends with Vann?

  I certainly didn’t not want to be friends with him.

  My Uber driver didn’t even look twice at me. He simply took off in the direction of my apartment. I was probably par for the course for pickups at this hour.

  Five minutes later, I was at home and locked inside my apartment. I hadn’t realized how close Vann and I lived to each other until now and it filled me with sadness all over again.

  God, I was a mess of emotions. Not to mention that had been the first time I’d had sex since…

  I went to my kitchen and grabbed a handful of pills for my headache and a glass of water. Taking them in one big swallow, I planted my hands on the counter and tried not to shame spiral any further.

  Girls my age slept with guys. This was a totally normal thing. Especially after a night of drinking.

  Oh, you know all about that, the evil side of my brain reminded me.

  But this wasn’t that, I argued back. This was harmless fun. This was mutual attraction. This was… consensual. My therapist would probably be proud of me.

  She’d been suggesting I try it again for a while. And now here we were. I’d tried it again. And it only made me want to cry a lot—or pack up and take off for an empty island to live out the rest of my days as an eccentric hermit.

  I planted my hands on the granite countertop and slumped my shoulders. A tear landed on the glossy counter. And then another one.

  Before I could grab a handle on my emotions, I slid to the floor and curled into the fetal position, sobbing harder than I had the night of the incident six years ago.

  Tears of joy and sadness, of survival and grief, of knowing I could still have sex and live to tell about it.

  Of knowing I could still have wild, drunk sex without getting drugged and taken advantage of.

  Of hating that it still killed me, that there were too many similarities from that last time and this new time for me to ever want to do it again.

  Of realizing that the crush I’d had on Vann was officially dead.

  When I’d purged myself of the heaviness of emotion and confusion, I found that I was cold and soberer than I wanted to be.

  Would this ever get better?

  Easier?

  Would I ever move on?

  Or was this who I was. The girl that slept around. The girl that partied her way through life because she didn’t have to try.

  The girl that got raped.

  Thirteen

  “We were wondering if you’d show up today.” Molly smiled at me as I slipped inside the bustling kitchen at Salt later that morning. She had a charcuterie board in her hands and a smirk on her face. “You okay?”

  Hell no, I wasn’t okay.

  I smiled and stole an olive off the counter. An angry chef in a Sarita jacket scowled at me. “Perfectly fine.”

  She nodded her head toward the back office. “Come on, we’re eating before the hair and makeup people arrive.”

  Folding my garment bag over my forearm, I weaved my way through the kitchen to the large office Vera and Killian had designed for two.

  Since they were both owners and head chefs, their office was rather luxurious compared to mine. And today it was covered in all things bridal—including a glowing bride, Kaya the bridesmaid, and white tulle as far as the eye could see.

  “There she is!” Vera grinned at me, her hands busy with tweezers and a magnifying mirror. “You’re the last one to arrive. I was getting worried you forgot.”

  “Never!” I declared as I plunked myself on the nearest wingback chair. A sudden surge of panic swished around in my gut. Had I acted a complete fool last night? Did I embarrass myself? Did they see me leave with Vann?

  “How do you look that good?” Kaya demanded, her hoarse voice giving away her own hungover state.

  I smiled at her and fished around in my tote. Pulling out a bevy of skincare products, I tossed her the under-eye patches made with collagen, green tea, and magic. “Here, these help.”

  “Ooh!” Vera demanded, “Me next.”

  “I brought more.” Scooting my chair over to Vera’s huge desk, I dumped out my bag and started passing out products.

  “Now I understand,” Molly whispered in awe.

  I blinked at her. “Understand what?”

  “I used to think you were an alien,” she admitted.

  Kaya nodded enthusiastically, “It’s because you’re so pretty. And skinny. And basically, we hate your pretty, skinny guts on principle.”

  “Wha—?”

  “Now I know your secret.”

  I rolled my eyes. “My expensive secret. But seriously, this stuff works. Natural beauty is all about a good skin care regimen.”

  “In other words, it’s not natural at all?” Vera asked.

  Smiling patiently at her, I said, “If I had been born during the middle ages, without my arsenal of retinol, I would have been the town hag.”

  Kaya threw the container of under eye patches back at me. “Not true!”

  “Okay, fine,” I sighed. “The town drunk.”

  They laughed at my self-deprecating humor.

  “You weren’t that bad,” Vera assured me. When I gave her a look she added, “All of us were bad. Last night was fun!”

  “Best rehearsal dinner ever,” Kaya agreed.

  “Did Vann get you home okay?”

  I pretended not to know who she was talking to and focused on finding my favorite moisturizer—aptly named Drunk Elephant.

  Boy, if I didn’t relate to that.

  “Hello?” Molly snapped her fingers in front of my face. “Is there something you’d like to tell us?”

  “Who me?” I asked, all aflutter with confusion.

  Vera rolled her eyes. “Yes, you. Did my brother get you home okay last night?” She waggled her eyebrows. “If you know what I mean.”

  “Oh, was it Vann who helped me home last night?” I cleared my throat and tried not to be annoyingly obvious. “My memory is kind of fuzzy, to be honest.”

/>   The three of them shared a look, before Kaya announced, “Come on, you guys were all over each other!”

  My cheeks burned bright red. I could tell them what happened. I could fess up and ask them for help wading through these complicated waters.

  But then I’d have to confess the other stuff too. And then they would tell their men. And one of those men was my brother. And another one was like a brother. And the third one was my old boss.

  I would never be able to look at these people again if they knew.

  Right now, I just wanted to keep my ducking and dodging to Vann and Vann only. At least he would be mostly out of my life after this weekend.

  “Yes, you left with Vann last night,” Vera assured me. “We were positive you were also going to wake up with Vann, to be honest.”

  Evading the upfront fishing from her comment, I shrugged and gave her a blank look. “Nope. I woke up in my bed this morning.” That wasn’t even a lie.

  I’d woken up in my empty bed, in my big, empty apartment. There had been no awkward good mornings or shared breakfasts. There hadn’t even been a confused text.

  It was almost like last night hadn’t happened and I’d only dreamed waking up next to Vann and sneaking out of his apartment.

  My friends tried to hide their disappointed looks, unsuccessfully. Thankfully, five minutes later an army of hair and makeup professionals showed up and did their best work to make us glow, shine, and look anything but hungover.

  It was impressive work. By the time I was dressed in my floor length blush gown with draped, off-the shoulder sleeves and a sweetheart neckline, I was legitimately impressed with the way I looked. My hair was pulled over my shoulder, somehow rocking a braid and loose curls and a crown of flowers at the same time. I looked like a hipster supermodel.

  “Now this is magic,” I told Kaya and Molly, who had similarly stunned looks on their gorgeous faces.

  “I’ve never looked this pretty,” Kaya declared. “Never.” When her makeup artist started to disagree with her, Kaya shook her head and insisted, “Seriously, never. I’m usually rocking a bandana, no makeup and three pounds of duck fat. Wyatt isn’t even going to recognize me.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. She might be right. Not that she couldn’t totally rock a bandana, no makeup, and three pounds of duck fat. Because she could. And she did every single night. But she was stunning in full makeup and with her purple hair in loose waves.