INKA
My head pounded with a dull, insistent rhythm as consciousness crept back in. The desert sun was already pushing through the edges of the blinds, and I groaned softly. I reached out, expecting to find Kayde’s warm body beside me, but the bed was empty.
Only the faint indent where he’d slept, his scent, that underlying masculine warmth that still clung to the pillow.
I sat up slowly, wincing as the movement sent a fresh wave of discomfort through my skull—a hangover. It wasn't so bad, but it was enough to remind me of how many of those “lighter” drinks Maggie had kept pressing into my hands last night.
My mouth felt dry, my stomach a confusing mix of queasy and ravenous. I’d gone to bed stuffed with laughter, good food, and Kayde... but now I was starving.
A small piece of paper
