8. Hungover
1135 Words
Molly
I answer, and Amber’s face fills my screen. Her short brown curls are everywhere, and her brown eyes are wide with murder-level intensity.
“What the hell are you talking about?” she demands.
I lift a shoulder. “I… sort of met this guy. Charles. My car broke down. We talked. He offered me a place to stay until I figure things out.”
Of course I leave out the part about pretending to be Lily’s mom for a month. Amber would absolutely lose her mind.
“Molly.” Her voice drops. “Have you lost your entire mind? You’re staying with a stranger? A man? In the woods?”
“He’s not a serial killer.”
“You don’t know that!”
“He has an eight-year-old daughter.”
“That doesn’t mean anything! Ted Bundy had… charm!”
I sigh and flop back onto the bed. “I embarrassed myself last night.”
Amber narrows her eyes. “Define embarrassed.”
“I tried to kiss him.”
Her jaw drops. Then she bursts out laughing. “Oh my God. You’re horny.”
“I am not!”
“You absolutely are. Your body is glitching. It’s been Josh your whole life and now suddenly there’s a hot woodsman picking you up off the floor. Of course you’re malfunctioning. You need some spiritual d**k healing.”
I smack my pillow. “Stop. You’re making it worse.”
“A single dad?” she continues. “Girl, he must be hot. Show me a picture. I want to see him. Immediately.”
Blood rushes to my face. “Maybe next time. I’ve got to go.”
“Fine. But do what you’ve got to do, girl.”
I make a face at her and end the call, shaking my head at the absurdity she just spilled into my ears. Only Amber can talk about “spiritual d**k healing” with a straight face. Her wild energy is a blessing and a threat, but at least she made me smile.
The smile fades quickly though, and I find myself staring toward the door, wondering where Charles is. Is he avoiding me? Honestly, if I were him, I would avoid me too. I embarrassed myself enough last night to justify changing identities and moving to a different continent.
After a few minutes of sitting like a useless decorative pillow, curiosity wins. I push myself up, smooth my sweater even though it does nothing for my dignity, and walk out of the room.
Lily and Snow are in the living room. Lily is sitting cross-legged on the floor, coloring quietly, while Snow flops beside her belly-up, begging for attention. The second Snow notices me, she jumps up and barrels toward me with enough enthusiasm to knock down a small tree.
“Hey Molly,” Lily says with a bright little smile.
“Hey sweetheart.” I lean down to rub Snow’s ears as she wiggles excitedly. “How are you doing?”
“I’m fine,” Lily replies. She stands up and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “Thank you for staying with us for Christmas. I’m really happy.”
Her sincerity hits me right in the chest. “I’m happy too. You and your dad have been wonderful.” I glance around the room. “Where is your dad anyway?”
“He went to greet the neighbors.” She bends down to pick up her drawing, but the front door opens before she can finish.
Charles steps inside, cold air following him before the door shuts. My eyes snap to him instantly, because apparently my subconscious is a thirsty traitor. He looks ridiculously good. That maroon shirt is hugging his arms like it has a personal grudge against me. And the tattoos on his biceps draw my eyes. Why does a lawyer have tattoos? Did he have a rebellious phase? Did he used to fight crime at night? Why do I want to touch them?
His gaze meets mine, and the memory of last night barrels through my mind so fast I nearly choke on it.
“You’re all dressed,” he says, breaking the silence with a calm voice. “Good. We’re eating breakfast out today.”
“Yeah!” Lily beams. “French toast. I’m going to get my jacket.” She hurries off, leaving me alone with him.
Charles looks back at me. “Are you alright?”
“Yes,” I answer too quickly, even though my headache is still pounding like crazy.
He watches me for a moment longer, then turns toward the kitchen counter. I take a step toward him, ready to apologize for my drunken disaster of a night, but he returns before I can speak. He holds out a glass of water and two aspirin.
“Oh,” I say as I take them. “Thank you.” I swallow the pills and hand the glass back. He sets it aside gently, and my stomach twists a little at how considerate he is. Why is he thoughtful? Why does that make this harder?
“Charles, about last night,” I say quietly. My hand goes to the back of my neck, rubbing nervously. “I’m sorry. I was a mess. I don’t really know what I was doing.”
“It’s alright,” he replies with that calm certainty of his. “I was glad you felt comfortable enough to confide in me.”
I shift my weight, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. “Yeah… well, about when you carried me to the bed. Did we…”
He raises a brow. “What?”
I feel my face heat. “Did we… you know…”
A slow spark lights up in his eyes. He straightens a little, the corner of his mouth tugging. “Relax your mind.”
I let out an awkward half laugh. “Right. Of course. Nothing happened. I mean, I thought maybe…”
“What,” he cuts in, stepping a little closer, “that we kissed?”
The way he says it makes my entire body freeze. “Did… did we?”
“You did not like it,” he says with a confidence that makes my heart jump.
My eyes go wide. “Wait. What?”
His smile deepens, warm and cocky in a way that sends a shiver straight down my spine. He leans just slightly forward, and for a moment I forget how to inhale.
“You really do not remember,” he murmurs, amusement flickering in his eyes.
My pulse trips over itself, and his gaze drifts to my mouth for a fraction of a second.
It is official. I am going to die in this cabin. Not from embarrassment. From tension.
- Writer
