by Box Set
Good call. It was chilly. I’d already found myself pressed up against his leg for warmth, and the blanket was covering both of us now.
Of course, I took the opportunity to stare at his ass. There was nothing beige about that, man. Firm and round and I could just bite—
I felt my cheeks warm as he turned around. What had he just said?
Oh. “Yes. Two guys.” That was embarrassing, right? Maybe he’d think that’s why I was blushing. “One of them was my high school boyfriend, the other I dated for like a semester in art school.”
That was even more pathetic when I said it out loud.
Perhaps he would not remember in the morning if he was drunk enough. To be quite sure, I topped off his drink after he sat back down. And then mine.
Strange. The bottle must have spilled at some point, because it was inexplicably empty. Also, it was suddenly one in the morning.
“Two guys. Shiiiiiiiit. Why don’t you…deal with that?” He was wobbling. Or I was. Which was weird since we were both sitting down.
“Cause every time I try to date a guy, he just wants to like—come on my tits.” Did I actually say that?
Shit. I did.
Marc’s expression morphed into confusion. “You don’t like that?”
“I just don’t––I don’t even know how to do it. The tit thing. Do I smush em together? Or… what?”
“Huh.” Silence.
I twisted my bottom lip with my fingers.
More silence.
I side-eyed him. “Are you thinking about coming on my tits now?”
“No!” Swear to god, his face went beet red. “Maybe. Okay, yes. I could show you how it works.”
“No way! You are an ass.” A really good-looking ass. Like, really, really good-looking.
“I’m drunk.” Marc’s face was so much closer to mine than I’d remembered it being. Close enough that our noses were near touching. “Du-runk.”
I felt really wise with my reply. I whispered it because we were so close. “Drunk ideas are bad. Bad ideas.”
“Bad, bad ideas,” he whispered back.
Thank goodness we agreed on that.
Chapter 3
I woke up the next morning with a start to a jackhammer drilling inside my head.
Pounding, pounding, pounding. The least sexy pounding there is. I was afraid to open my eyes, certain that any amount of light wouldn’t help the situation.
On top of that, someone had transported a desert into my mouth. That was the only explanation for my extreme thirst. Also, I was naked, which was strange since I almost never slept in the nude, but that was the least of my concerns.
I fumbled for the water bottle I always kept by my bed.
Not there.
But someone had thoughtfully placed a box of tissues and a container of lotion on the nightstand.
Wait. Why would––?
Oh, sweet Odin. This was not my bed.
The memories of last night crashed down at exactly the same time as the jackhammer in my head moved to its highest drilling setting. I remembered no pants and lots of bourbon. Something about a bangcation in France. Then a conversation regarding semen on my tits.
Holy cats. The mortification. What on earth had prompted me to bring that up?
Suddenly, the status of my nakedness moved from the least of my worries to the top of the list. Had we––? Had he––?
I grabbed my ladies. Seemed okay. I groped around on them for a second longer searching for anything dry or crusted.
Nothing. Thankfully they’d escaped his amorous attentions.
“Is this your normal morning routine?” came a rumbly voice next to me.
I froze, my position now a means of covering up rather than exploration. Because of course. Of course that’s where I was. In Hot Marc’s bed. Where else would I be? And I hadn’t even ascertained the extent of the humiliation before I got busted feeling myself up.
This was not how I’d imagined the morning after with him going.
If I had imagined it, that is. Okay, fine, but I hadn’t imagined it actually happening. That’s why they call them fantasies.
Careful not to let in more light than necessary, I snuck a peek over in his direction. He was sprawled out on his back, an arm tossed over his eyes. Scruff layered his jaw, and despite his skin having a slightly gray tint, he had the audacity to still be as attractive as ever.
And here I was feeling (and probably looking) like I’d been squeegee’d through a printing press, clutching my breasts like I’d thought they were going someplace.
I swallowed a groan and made something up. “Self-exams are integral to preventing breast cancer.”
“Self-exams. Right.” The sound he made was half chuckle, half sigh, and all judgment.
“So I’m not correct in assuming that self-examination is also why you keep the lotion/tissue combo over here as well?”
Dead silence from his side.
Yeah. Exactly. See if he’ll have the nerve to wake up looking that sexy again.
Especially after a night like that.
Though, I still wasn’t sure exactly what all the night had entailed. There were holes in my memory. My body didn’t feel like it had...and believe me, I’d know. I mean, I was about as immaculate as Mary. It would be pretty obvious if the eagle had landed, so to speak, and the nest was definitely empty.
I stole another glance in his direction. The sheet was wrapped around his waist revealing his bare chest. And wowzers, that chest was perfection. The lines and ridges were sketched with such detail, I wanted to draw them. Wanted to trace across them with my pen. Was it uncouth to fingerpaint on your roommate? With your tongue?
Lower, a fine trail of light brown hair dusted along his abs and disappeared underneath the sheet confirming the state of his undress.
If I’d gotten any part of that last night, it was more than a damn shame that I didn’t remember. I racked my brain for any recollection to grab onto––a kiss, a grope––but my head was having trouble putting forth any effort at all.
So I sucked up my pride––who was I kidding? Pride had long ago left the building––and started the conversation that was bound to occur sooner or later. “About last night...”
“That’s not normal,” he cut me off.
“Yeah?” I asked. My hands were still on my girls, for fuck’s sake. Who’s to say what was normal?
More importantly, this was an interesting development. Or un-development, so to say.
“Nope,” he said, moving his arm so he could look me in the eye. “That was the bourbon.”
“Fair enough.” Though, I’d had bourbon too, and even though I had no memory of it, I was certain that I’d been able to keep up my part in the game of bedroom Twister. So was he really saying it was the alcohol? Or was he suggesting it was the partner who’d brought the alcohol? I knew we hadn’t had sex. But did he know that?
I sat up, tugging the sheet with me to cover my chest with something beyond my palms. “It’s just never happened before. Not to me.”
His eyes narrowed. “You need a larger sample size before you get to make broad statements like that.”
Oh, right. I’d told him about my scanty romantic history, too. That was a blank I didn’t need to have filled in.
I twisted my lip while I tried to think with an appropriate comeback.
Marc evidently didn’t see any need to wait around while I did. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I’ll, uh, be right back,” he mumbled before standing and showcasing the firmest ass I’d had the pleasure of seeing. Like, ever. Like, not once in my daydreams. Like, not even in my occasional slip into the Tumblr rabbit hole had I seen such deliciousness.
Thank god the bathroom was on his side of the bed, and he couldn’t see the way I stared after him until the door was shut behind him.
Then I threw my head back against the headboard. What had we done?
Perhaps more appropriate––what had we not done?
Seriously, the humiliation was worse with the confirmation that Marc hadn’t even been able to perform. Worse for him, yes, but also worse for me. Because a man who looked like that could be forgiven for any amount of bedroom mishaps. A nerdy little undersexed artist like myself? Yeah, I’d never live this down even if I were the only one who ever gave me shit about it.
I brought my fingers up to rub across my swollen lips. These at least had seen some action. My heart did a little flip-flop at the thought of kissing Marc Kirby. How had that been? How had he tasted? Bourbon-flavored, I’d guess, but what else? Did he kiss softly and tentatively? Or was he as aggressive as I wanted to imagine he’d been?
And wasn’t this fucking typical. I’d actually kissed the hot guy for once, and I still didn’t know the answers. Big fat chance that I’d get another opportunity like that again.
I rolled over so I could scream into his pillow. God, it smelled like him. A mixture of woodsy scents and mint.
The bathroom door opened, and I scrambled to gather the sheet around me so I could take my own turn without exposing any more of my body than necessary.
“Excuse me,” I said, averting my eyes as I brushed past him. He still was buck naked, and it didn’t seem appropriate to stare while he was facing me.
Though, I really was curious about what he was packing up front. Just, not quite brave enough to peek.
With the door shut, I leaned over the bathroom sink and waited for my stomach to settle from getting up too fast while hungover. One look in the mirror confirmed all I’d suspected about my appearance. My normally pale skin was actually ashen, my brown and purple-tipped hair was tangled in knots, and there was a deep red crease along the top of my cheek from where my glasses had pressed against my face in my sleep.
Super attractive. Obviously.
I straightened my specs, then turned on the sink and cupped my hands so I could hydrate. Finding some mouthwash on the counter, I tossed some back and swished it around while I ran my fingers through the rat’s nest on top of my head. By the time I was ready to spit, I realized the endeavor was hopeless. And pointless. Marc had already seen me at my worst. It wasn’t like I was going to be able to fix that impression with anything I did now.
One hand clutching the sheet, I put my other on the door handle and paused. Something in the mirror had caught my eye. I turned to look at the bathtub where the reflection was coming from and sure enough, there was a container of fru-fru bubble bath next to an empty wine cooler.
Shit.
The girlfriend.
I’d forgotten Marc had a fucking girlfriend.
Cursing under my breath, I grabbed the bubble bath and opened the door. “Cucumber Rose, Marc?”
He looked up from where he was perched on the bed, his cheeks reddening. “You looked in my bathtub?”
“It was on the outer edge. I didn’t even have to snoop for it.” Point for me on that one. Because if the man hadn’t religiously kept his bedroom door locked, I would have snooped months before. It’s important to know your roommates.
“Well.” I could see him swallow from where I stood. “Now you know.”
“That you have a girlfriend? A girlfriend who probably wouldn’t appreciate you screwing around with your roommate.” I didn’t mention that I’d suspected it before. It was his responsibility to feel bad about this. I refused to share that guilt.
His head lurched back in surprise. “A girlfriend? What? No. I don’t have a girlfriend.”
Oh, god. He didn’t have a girlfriend, because he—he was… Oh, that explained everything. Why last night didn’t work, for one.
“That...that’s mine.”
“Yours?” I frowned. I was all mentally prepared for him to announce a boyfriend. It was… his? “What about the wine cooler?”
His lids closed briefly as he let out a sigh. “Guilty.”
Huh. Wasn’t the kind of guilt I’d thought this was leading to.
But now that the subject had come up, it made much more sense that Marc would be planning a bangcation in France if he didn’t have a girlfriend. Also it proved I was into gender stereotypes––I’d have to work on that for sure.
I looked at him then back at the bubble bath. Then back at him.
That’s when the giggles started. “Marc Kirby likes cucumber rose bath bubbles.”
“It smells good,” he said defensively. “I like to smell good.”
“What scent is your shampoo? Pear Breeze?” The giggling spiked up a notch.
“That’s enough.”
“Oh, wait,” I gasped dramatically. “That’s probably the flavor of your wine cooler.”
“Would you cut it out.” Marc’s stern look was sexy as hell; I gotta admit. His students were going to go nuts over that.
Of course that was only fuel to keep going. “‘100% organic,’” I read from the bottle. “This is some quality shit. I’m going to have to borrow this.”
“Okay. Hand it over.” He got up off the bed and headed toward me, his hand outstretched toward the bubble bath.
“I will when I’m––” But then I saw something else that caught my interest.
Marc had put on boxer briefs while I was in the bathroom––blue this time, not quite as alluring as the red, but still a nice fit. Just, right at that moment the fit was more pointed than I’d expected it to be. Oh. Snap.
“Hello,” I said, giving over the bath wash without a fight. Because who cared about that when he was sporting that.
“That’s. That just happens.” He brought the bottle down in front of him to cover his goods. Like that was going to help. “I have no control over it.”
My smile was smug. “Then it really was an issue of bourbon last night. That’s nice to know.”
“What? Wait––did you think I didn’t get it up? Because I definitely did. It was the bourbon’s fault that I passed out.”
“Ohhhh. I certainly read that situation wrong.” This was a much better version of events.
It also boded well for the current situation.
My smile turned from smug to playful as I leaned back against one side of the doorframe and blinked innocently. “So this is morning wood?”
“Or.” He set the bottle on the counter inside the bathroom and turned his focus to me. “The sexy naked woman in my bedroom.”
My breath hitched.
Never mind that I was actually still kind of standing in his bathroom.
“You think I’m sexy?” My voice sounded higher than usual.
“Uh, yeah.” He placed a hand on the frame over me. “Obviously.”
I glanced down at his package and then back up. “Obviously.” Whaaaat. I mean, I knew what I looked like right then. But who was I to argue? If Marc’s vision was that poor, I would be happy to reap the benefits. And what was happening in his undies was certainly a benefit.
He chuckled, a deep rumbling sound that sent goosebumps running down my arms and had my stomach twisting into knots.
“Marc…?” I didn’t really know what I wanted to say. He was intimidating like this, standing so close like he was. I could reach out and touch his chest without having to straighten my arm. I could see the pupils of his eyes darken as he glanced down at my lips, and I started thinking thoughts I shouldn’t be thinking, let alone thinking about speaking.
“Yes, Madison?” He seemed to inch even closer.
“You know, maybe we should try a redo.” The words came out in a rush, before I had time to fully consider what I was saying.
His mouth stretched up into a half smile. “You mean...you want to sober-sex?”
Hungover ideas are just as bad as drunk ones, it turns out. Maybe I was actually still drunk. Because suggesting sober-sex was a bad, bad idea.
Wasn’t it?
But the words were out, and his lips were a breath away, and he hadn’t sounded completely turned off at the suggestion. “Yeah. I mean.”
“We’re here,” he suggested.
“Yes. And naked. For
the most part.”
“Good point.”
Again I glanced at the tent between us. “There’s that too. The point.”
“Yes. That.” Another of those chuckles that made my girl parts tingle. “And we did start this when we were drunk.”
“Right. So we can still blame the alcohol.”
“We’ll totally blame the alcohol,” he said just as his mouth crashed against mine.
Then my whole life flashed before my eyes because I was definitely dying as I sagged against the wooden frame behind me and it was great that it was there because without it, I would have been on the floor. My heart raced from the touch of his skin against mine. My knees buckled from the taste of him (mint, it turned out; he’d obviously swished as well). Fireworks exploded behind my eyes. His lips were silk, and his tongue was velvet, and joyful praise, he knew how to use both.
Kissing Marc was both everything I’d ever fantasized about and nothing I could ever imagine. Suddenly, I knew exactly how Peter Parker must have felt after the spider bit him; awakened to incredible new senses and more aware than ever.
He deepened the kiss, and I groaned as my stomach did another flip-flop. Then the feeling in my belly began creeping up my chest. Then it was at the back of my throat. And then...
Uh oh.
I broke sharply away from the kiss, bringing my hand up to my mouth. “I think I need to––”
There wasn’t time to finish my sentence. I lurched for the toilet making it just in time to fall to my knees and worship.
Yep. I was definitely blaming the alcohol.
Chapter 4
I thought about Marc basically all weekend. Blushing in humiliation every time.
He’d hung around to make sure I was okay–and probably to make sure I didn’t make a mess of his bathroom–but eventually he had to leave for his mother’s like he did every weekend. He was usually gone before I even woke up on Saturday, so it was sweet that he’d stayed as long as he did. It was even sweeter that he’d held my hair back while I...
Well.
I didn’t like to think about that bit.
