Dark
Surrendering
One
I rolled over and bumped into something solid. And warm. The thing groaned and my eyes flew open. I was in my room, but I wasn’t alone. Oh, shit.
Then the headache hit me. I moaned and closed my eyes again. The sound of my voice woke the guy next to me.
“What the fuck?” He drew out the last word. What the fuck was definitely the right thing to say. Also, I was naked. The guy next to me didn’t have anything on either.
“Oh. Hey,” he said. That voice confirmed my worst fears.
“Hey, Ryder.” I opened my eyes again to find him staring at me. Those blue eyes would be my undoing. They were set in a face that was none the worse for wear. Unlike his two brothers, Ryder bore the scars of a hard life in visible ways.
“I feel like fucking shit,” he said, and I mentally agreed. I didn’t think I’d ever had a hangover this bad, and that was saying something.
Ryder’s eyes skimmed my body, which, of course, was not covered by much more than a bit of blanket. I had a tendency to thrash around when I slept.
Even though it hurt to move, I yanked the blankets over myself.
“Stop that. This is going to make me sound like an asshole, but what happened last night?” he asked after he stopped trying to stare his way through the blanket.
Great, he didn’t remember. Even greater? I didn’t either.
“Um, I remember dancing and drinking and that’s about it,” I said, trying not to look at him. Ryder hadn’t bothered to cover up, and it was seriously distracting. There was so much to look at. His tattoos, the fact that he was redhead everywhere, the random little scars that marked his freckled skin with spots of white. And of course he had other, ah, assets.
He rubbed his head and frowned. His hair used to be longer, but he cut it for some reason. I missed the length.
“That’s about what I remember.” I glanced beyond the bed and saw the gorgeous dress I’d spent hours sewing to fit just right, crumpled on the floor, with pieces of Ryder’s suit next to it.
Silence descended on us, and I really didn’t want to ask the question that was the most important.
“I’m guessing we fucked, huh?” he said.
“Well, judging by the fact that we’re both naked and in my bed, all signs point to yes. Shit. Rory is going to kill me.”
“And Lucah is going to kill me. This is the last thing I wanted,” he said, sighing and slowly getting to his feet with a groan.
“Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuccccckkkkkk,” he said, clutching his head. “That was a bad idea. Bad fucking idea.” I had no idea how many times a person could use the word fuck in a short period before I met Ryder. I cursed as much as the next person, but under his influence, I’d turned into a foul-mouthed sailor.
“It’s your own damn fault,” I said. I wasn’t moving yet. If I did, I might throw up. I definitely didn’t want to throw up if I could avoid it. That would just make everything so much worse.
Ryder leaned over slowly and picked up his discarded boxers, slowly drawing them over each leg, as if each movement caused him pain. I could imagine.
I was still trying to figure out if we’d actually had sex. The evidence seemed overwhelming, and I scoured my hazy memories of the night before to find something, anything, that would confirm whether we had or hadn’t.
Apart from my head, my body felt fine. I snuck my hand under the covers and felt around. No road rash or evidence of sex.
“You don’t remember anything?” I asked again.
“I remember how good you looked in that dress. That shit is burned in my memory forever.” And I would never forget the image of him in a tux. Fuck me, he looked good. Then there was the dancing. Who knew he could waltz? Didn’t exactly fit with his image, but it made him even sexier.
“Yes, but after you saw the dress. Come on, Ryder, this is important.” The chance that the sex was actually safe was miniscule.
“I know it’s fucking important!” he yelled, and then grabbed his head. “Do you think I wanted this to happen? That this was my plan all along? To get you wasted and into bed? Fuck, I did just about everything to make sure that didn’t happen.” Except, you know, not getting drunk and coming home with me and taking his clothes off. But I couldn’t blame him. We were both at fault for whatever had happened, sex or not.
“I need to go. I need to get out of here before Rory or my brother sees anything. Because even if nothing happened, this doesn’t look good, and I’ll get blamed. I always get blamed.” He moved a little faster and got his pants, shoes, and shirt on. His outfit reeked of “walk of shame” but that couldn’t be helped. He probably still had some clothes at Rory and Lucah’s, but there was no way to get to them without being totally obvious about it.