The hot water poured out of the shower and directly onto Beth and her very white sheet. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing at her horrified face as the sheet plastered against her naked body.
"Out!" she shouted hysterically.
"Leaving." I held up my hands, still laughing as I exited the shower.
I could have sworn I heard her talking to herself as I grabbed last night's clothes and started dressing. Maybe it was good to get it out of my system.
The whole getting drunk and sleeping with a bridesmaid at my good friend's wedding?
Yeah, I'd never done that before, but maybe I got extra points because I actually knew the bridesmaid before jumping into bed with her? Yes? No?
In my limited experience, one-night stands usually meant awkward mornings where reality set in and you realize you aren't ready for a relationship. This usually involves the guy trying to get out of bed without waking the beast; the beast, upon hearing her mate moving, jolts to attention and latches on without a second thought to the male's inability to feel anything but the sharp talons of the female burying into his skin.
There are almost always tears, followed by yelling; and if the guy is lucky, the girl vacates the premises, screaming obscenities into the air. If the guy lacks any sort of good luck, he usually ended up with a bag of peas pressed firmly against his best friend.
His other best friend.
I let out a chuckle.
Yeah, so that one-night stand? Freaking perfect.
Though I could have sworn Beth was still talking to herself from the bathroom — at least she wasn't screaming or clawing my eyes out. Then again… I winced as I moved my shoulder back and forth, causing a crack to reverberate throughout my body. What the hell had happened last night? Everything was so fuzzy. The only thing I remembered was drinking and then Beth eating cookies. I only remember the cookies because she was so damn beautiful when she was eating them. I sound insane, but it was true. She hadn't mauled them; she'd taken her time with each one. And each time she'd bitten into the cookie, I could have sworn I'd felt that bite all the way down to my toes.
There was always that special something about her, besides her obvious good looks, shiny dark hair, and damn cat eyes. I was drawn to her. I'd been drawn to her since I was seventeen. Shit, I felt like I was seventeen again. My body sure as hell responded like it.
Our brief encounter at prom shouldn't have been brief, which again gave me a clue as to why a one-night stand with her was a bad idea. Our last meeting? Had not ended well. Clearly, the feeling hadn't been mutual. I'd been like a moon-eyed starstruck teenager, and she'd been less than impressed that night. It was good I'd never made it. Seeing her again brought back the old feelings. Damn it! They were supposed to stay locked away. I was twenty-eight now. I was an adult. I was a senator, for shit's sake. I pinched the bridge of my nose. The problem? The details of our hot night together? More than fuzzy.
Which had to be a bad sign.
Then again, I had no hangover whatsoever. Not even a headache.
In fact, other than the sore muscles, I felt fantastic.
Whatever. Shrugging, I went in search of my suitcase. Then paused.
Why the hell didn't I have my suitcase? Details came rushing back. I'd been staying with the Titus family during the wedding, meaning my suitcase was still there, and I was… here? Whose hotel room was I actually in? Because it sure as hell wasn't mine!
I scratched my head then resorted to slapping myself in the face to jolt any sort of memory. But nothing. Still blank. Maybe Beth knew?
Right. That's what every woman wanted to hear: "Hey, you're hot, but I totally don't remember what you look like naked. Even though we woke up that way together. Thanks for a good time? Oh, and PS, whose room are we in?"
May as well put the name Jake Titus across my forehead and do the walk of shame.
I wasn't some billionaire playboy like Jake was. I was responsible. In control. Hell, I was the youngest damn senator Oregon had ever seen.
And that's when reality hit.
In a force so strong my eyes frantically searched for a paper bag.
Holy shit.
It was going to be in the newspapers.
If I couldn't remember being drunk or getting to the damn hotel, that meant I was sloppy about every single thing that happened.
I checked my watch. Six a.m. With a curse, I reached for my cell and winced. Fifteen missed calls.
I never put my phone on vibrate.