She smacked her forehead, trying hard to remember.
Last night, she drank with Dylan, and then... and then everything got fuzzy.
"Ughhhhh!" Leslie groaned in frustration.
Right then, Broderick stepped out of the room, fully dressed.
The man had on a deep purple shirt, looking sharp and classy. Every button was done up to the top, right to his collarbone-totally buttoned-up and seriously repressed.
Noticing the change in Broderick's eyes, Leslie instantly dove back into bed, pulled the covers up in one quick motion, and snapped, "What are you looking at?"
Broderick's gaze shifted away, calm as ever.
"Don't get it twisted. Who was it that crawled into my bed last night?" he asked, deadpan.
Leslie stared at him, at her wit's end. "So you're saying I climbed into your
