Wrong Bed Baby (Crescent Cove 10)

“Of course.” I stepped off the last step and fell into the door forehead-first at the bottom of the stairs.

“Right. You seem in great shape.” Shaking his head, Christian blew out a breath and snapped his notebook shut before ascending the

last few steps to the roof.

Once he’d gone, I took a deep breath and opened the door to the hallway. I could do this. A few more feet, and I’d be at my apartment.

I shambled up the hall, cocking one eye open to watch the passing numbers. Just a few more doors and I’d be able to fall into my bed and sleep it off. And when I woke up, I would ensure there wasn’t any more alcohol in my apartment. Not even one drop.

I tried one door and found it locked. Not mine. I’d left mine open. Crescent Cove was safe. Pretty safe, other than the risk of getting peed on if you passed by the Forrester Apartment building at the wrong time.

Giggling again to myself, I leaned against the wall until my feet worked. My damn toe ached like a bitch. I was sure it was absence of Luna. Like that was a physical condition.

Hey, if I could make it outside, maybe I could serenade her at her window. That was in a movie once, and the heroine had probably banged that dude senseless. Chicks loved sappy romantic gestures.

Then again, if I even managed to get it up at this point, that’d be romantic enough.

I continued on down the hall and turned another doorknob once I was reasonably sure I was in the right spot. This door swung open easily, and I smiled in triumph.

Bingo.

And Christian had wondered if I could handle finding my apartment. Pfft. I hadn’t had any issue.

I stumbled inside, immediately assaulted by a cool water scent that made me sigh. Smelled so good. So soothing. That would appeal to all the hordes of women I wouldn’t be having sex with because of my ninja swimmers.

Bummer for them.

I bumped into something and frowned. That wasn’t where my couch was. Or was it? I’d moved things around more than once since moving in. Since when had I been so indecisive? I needed to put stuff in one place and keep it there.

A shaft of moonlight through the wide windows illuminated a table with a vase of some green fern-y stuff. I frowned again. Did I have flowers? I didn’t think so. But I continued on, lured by the intriguing items strewn upon the floor of the open plan apartment so like my own. I followed them to the bedroom with its large dark blue bed, finally stopping by the foot to pick up a lacy bra dangling from the post. That definitely wasn’t mine. I checked the tag.

38 DD. Damn. I had good taste.

Hmm. I turned my head and took in the space. I noted a few girly touches like candles and glittery gems in piles or circles on top of pieces of furniture that could’ve come from my sister-in-law’s and my brother’s vintage shop. Then my gaze zeroed in on one particular artifact, one that I couldn’t forget in this lifetime or any other.

Luna’s gleaming silver stripper pole.

Shit, wrong apartment. What the hell was I doing here? New building or not, how did I screw up so badly? We were right across from each other, but this clearly wasn’t my place.

I frowned as I stared at her bed and rubbed my aching temple. Bedding was piled high, with enough pillows that it probably felt like sleeping on a cloud. Not that I cared about such things when a woodpecker wasn’t trying to drill his way out of my skull. But right now, I wanted to dive in and sleep for a century.

At least for a dozen hours or so.

I gathered a handful of her silky sheets and breathed deep. Her bed smelled like a mixture of wildflowers and the ocean. All beachy and floral and sexy as hell. The combination shouldn’t have made me lightheaded, but none of my reactions to this woman made sense.

Then again, the alcohol was probably helping. I was never drinking again.

Nope.

I glanced over my shoulder than back at the bed. Maybe I could just take a little nap? Luna wasn’t even here, and besides, it was the neighborly thing to do to offer comfort if possible. I was clearly ailing.

Once I’d had a nap, I’d be on my way, with my head full of things that I shouldn’t know.

Like her choice in bras. And her cup size. And what it was like to sleep in her bed, even if she didn’t happen to be there at the time.

“Just a few minutes, I promise,” I muttered, slipping between the cool sheets. I groaned so loudly at the feel of her pillows beneath my aching head that I went still, fearing I’d somehow alert her wherever she’d gone. I didn’t think I was physically capable of getting up and leaving at this point.

All I wanted was some time alone in her luxurious, sweetly fragranced bed. Please God. Just long enough to make the stabbing in my brain stop.