What’s up? I can hardly remember why I came over here. “Uh … oh, right. What’s your favorite position?”
“My favorite …” he mutters with a frown. “Are we talking politics? Or sex?”
“Sex.” Please say missionary. Please prove me right.
“Hmm.” He’s trying to look serious, but it’s not working. “I’d have to show you.”
Now’s not the time to be sexy and adorable, particularly when I’m drunk and feeling vulnerable to his charm. “Please, tell me. This is important research.”
“Research? In that case …” He taps a finger to his lips, smirking, and turns his eyes up toward the ceiling. “If I absolutely had to choose to only have sex in one position for the rest of my life, it would be reverse cowgirl.”
“Really?” It’s not easy, trying to look serious and professional at a time like this. “That’s fascinating.”
“Indeed.” He lowers his hands, placing them sideways in front of his hips like he’s holding on to something. Or someone. “I’m a butt man; what can I say? I like watching it bounce up and down when she’s riding me.”
Jeez Louise. My mouth is suddenly bone dry. “Uh.” That’s all I manage to say. And I’m a writer.
He shrugs. “What exactly is this research for, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Rather than come up with an answer—like, the truth for instance—my good friend Patrón gives me an idea. “You’re a nice-looking guy. I bet you have a lot of sex. With all the girls you bring home on the nights you don’t get in until four in the morning.”
He’s not smiling anymore. “You know when I come home?” he asks, taking a backward step to put more space between himself and the serial killer from across the hall, who’s been studying his habits. At least, that’s how I’d feel in his shoes.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Do you go out much?”
“I’m the one asking questions right now,” I remind him, shaking a finger in his face. He’s starting to go a little blurry, truth be told. “And if you need to know, I work late at night. I’m usually awake until all hours.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m a writer.” Right, and I’m holding my laptop to prove it. I thrust it his way. “Ta-da.”
Of course, I sort of forgot what I was writing before I made this little trek across the hall. This might not have been the best time to present my work.
It’s too late though since he has already taken the computer from me and is now reading. Aloud. “He caressed the petals of her silky folds? What do you write about? Flowers?”
“No. Romance. How would you say that in a dirty way?”
“It depends on what it means. What silky folds?”
I roll my eyes. “Down there,” I whisper, pointing. “Her vagina.”
His mouth twitches like he’s trying to hold back a laugh. “Oh. I see. If you write romance, don’t you know how to dirty it up on your own?”
I have to sigh. I’ve been holding that sigh back all day, ever since the meeting with Maggie, and it feels good to let it out. “No. My books are sweet and wholesome. They focus on relationships, not on gratuitous sex. Think lovemaking instead. Only that’s not what’s selling right now, which is why I’m drinking. I need to get myself loosened up, so I can write what my editor wants to read. I have to learn how to write dirty sex.”
“Now, it’s all coming together—no pun intended.” He winks.
I’m a little too tipsy to figure out what that’s supposed to mean, so I only smile. “Right. So, what do I say? He shoved his big, hardened sex—no, manhood. No, his dick. Hmm. He shoved his big, hard dick?”
He winces, wrinkling his nose like he just smelled something putrid. “Why don’t you say, He shoved his big, hard cock?”
“Yes!” I squeal, clapping like mad. “This is the help I need! He shoved his big, hard cock into her … um … silky, moist … no. No, that’s not good. Her silky vagina that was all … wait! I know! Juicy for him. Huh?” I ask, feeling pretty proud.
Until his nose wrinkles again, that is.
“No offense, but that’s awful. Moist? Silky? How about, He shoved his hard cock into her sweet, wet pussy?”
Gulp. Is it just the tequila, or is he not joking anymore? “That’s perfect,” I whisper. “Thanks. I’ll be going home now.” Except when I try to grab for the laptop, I can’t figure out which of the three in front of me to reach for. “I’m dizzy.”
The last thing I remember is falling into a pair of strong arms.
CHAPTER THREE
The sun is rude.
That’s the first thought to bubble to the surface of my dehydrated, hungover brain on waking up. How dare the sun shine in my face this way. Well, the sun was all the way on the other side of the world when I drank too much. It doesn’t know any better than to rudely awaken me.
Drank too much.
This isn’t my bed. The sheets are way too fancy.
What happened?
I have to pry open one eye to look around, sun or no sun. What did I do last night?
The sight of a naked shoulder next to me is enough to inspire a screech of surprise and horror.
Which inspires a dog to start barking, which inspires my head to pound harder than it already was.
The shoulder flexes, moves, and suddenly, the person beside me is rolling over to give me a smile. I know that smile. Oh crap.
“How are you feeling?” Matt asks with a knowing look.
“Um … I’m not sure.” Because clearly, he doesn’t want the laundry list of everything running through my head. How did I end up in bed with him? Did we do it? If so, how could I possibly forget having sex with this beautiful man?
Then again, it’s all a blank after a certain point. My memory’s a total wash.
“You were kind of messed up last night,” he explains, sympathetic. “You passed out in my arms actually.”
Okay, so that pretty much makes me want to die of embarrassment. “What then?” I ask in barely a whisper. I’m not even sure I want to know.
“And then I laid you down on my couch, out in the living room. I made sure you were still breathing okay. No offense, but I couldn’t stop thinking about that bag of liquor bottles from yesterday. I was afraid you might really have alcohol poisoning. I almost took you to the hospital. But you finally came to and said you only had four or maybe five shots of tequila. Painful, but it didn’t seem like that would kill you.”
“So, how did I end up in your bed?” I can’t believe I have to ask this, but that’s what happens when a girl who doesn’t normally drink that much at once just so happened to forget to eat anything beforehand. I don’t think I’ve ever been so humiliated.
Oh, wait, things can always get worse.
I sit up, facing away from Matt because I’m too embarrassed to look at him, and throw back the blankets. The cool morning air hits my skin. All of my skin. Like, my entire body.
“I’m naked!” I shriek, covering myself up again. “Oh my God! Did we—”