“Hey, Roy.”
“Nik.”
“His name’s Harry.”
Roy does a double take when he looks back at the two of us. “Tie one on tonight?”
Harry-Nik lifts his fingers, separating them only a smidge. “Little bit.”
“Looks like a fun time.”
He shifts into drive and takes off. “Where am I taking you?”
“Home,” Harry-Nik mumbles, laying his head back against the seat.
“You got it,” he says, looking at us through the rearview mirror.
Harry-Nik settles us comfortably together, his arm thrown over the back and around my shoulders, tucking me in close. I know I need to tell Roy my address but instead, I curl up in the crook of his shoulder and wrap an arm around his waist.
Next thing I know, I’m being lifted out of a car and carried somewhere in strong arms. It’s cozy and comforting and maybe it’s my level of intoxication, but I’ve never felt more relaxed in my life.
Until the next morning.
Chapter Three
Nikolas
I wake up feeling like complete shit. My head hurts like I’ve actually been hit by a truck, there’s no way I won’t have the beer shits today, and there’s gotta be cement blocks on my feet weighing me down. It was all fun and games last night — literally — but this morning, I’m having regrets.
But not about the girl.
That was fun.
Spending the evening with her, forgetting and laughing and drinking and eating. Drinking a little more. The darts and singing and dancing. Drinking.
I groan.
Too.
Much.
Drinking.
Then a groan that matches mine but is far more feminine sounds next to me and I… oh, shit.
I’m naked.
Birthday suit naked.
Surely we didn’t…
God, if there was ever a time to give me whiskey dick, please let it be last night.
I can’t believe I just prayed for God to give me a malfunctioning dick… or that I said dick in my prayers. Or that I’m even praying about drunk sex. All so I didn’t have drunk sex with her. Not that I wouldn’t want to have sex with her, but as drunk as we were? No. No way. I’m better than that. Not that much of an asshole. Right?
Now I’m lying here overthinking my prayer while naked in my bed with Sally — or Ashley, as it turns out her name really is when we confessed to each other that we aren’t Harry or Sally — who I hope we didn’t have sex with only because I’m still drunk the next morning.
Fuck… I’m a mess.
Though, oddly enough, guilt isn’t one of the feelings bubbling to the surface right now.
Regret that I don’t remember much of it does, though. I just remember her falling asleep to the point where neither Roy or I could wake her up when we arrived at my house and after a few moments of both of us freaking out, I realized she was fine, just an incredibly sound sleeper. If the snoring was anything to go by, anyway.
Then she woke up abruptly when we got into the house, looked at me with wide eyes that could have only meant one thing, and so I quickly directed her to the guest bathroom so she could throw up the plethora of liquor she had consumed.
When she emerged she looked at me and said, “I’m sure this may come as a total shock, but my name is Ashley, not Sally.”
I mock gasped then grinned, told her my name is Nikolas but I go by Nik and she grinned back, then groaned, then we sat on the couch.
And, apparently, ended up getting naked and into my bed at some point. That’s where things get fuzzy.
“Did we have sex?” Ashley asks in a quiet voice next to me.
I don’t even lift my head to look over at her when I respond, “No clue.”
She shifts a little bit and winces. “We definitely had sex.”
Part of me, the asshole part, wants to brag that she can still feel me there the next day. But the other part of me wants to search my house for used condoms and apologize for taking advantage of her in her drunken state. Even though I was just as drunk so the same could be said for her, but that’s beside the point.
“I don’t know if I should apologize or what here,” I admit.
“Apologize for what?” she asks, sleep still heavy in her voice. In fact, I think she’s asleep again. Who does that? Falls asleep after realizing that she just had sex with practically a stranger? Maybe this is normal for her but it’s way out of my wheel house.
“Taking advantage of you?” I tell her, but it comes out more as a question.
She groans again and this time rather than sounding like she’s in pain, she sounds annoyed. “Do not put that on me and don’t act like a martyr. I’m a grown woman and know how to make smart decisions.”
“But you were drunk.”
“So were you,” Ashley points out.
“Yes, but…”
She sits up, clutching the sheet to her chest and wipes her face, pushing her hair back as she turns to face me. “But what? You’re the man so you’re the one who has to be the mature one? Ugh. I’m so sick of this bullshit.”
“What bullshit is that?”
“The bullshit that the media or social media or books or whatever tells women that only the man has to be the one to stop things. That a woman can’t make her own decisions and the man is supposed to be the responsible one. It’s obnoxious. Everyone is all we are women hear us roar but then we get pissed off if the guy doesn’t open our car doors and act like we always have to come first. I mean, how annoying is the double standard, right?”
“What are you talking about?” I risk asking, because the longer she talks, the louder her voice gets and it’s obvious she’s getting mad. I kind of understand what she means, because Josie is my sister and she’s vocal. She’s also said the same type of thing several different times to me. How she hated commercials and television shows or movies that depicted weak-ass men, her words, not mine, who couldn’t stand up for themselves. I would laugh at her dramatics and she would get mad at me. But back to Ashley, I’m honestly not sure if that’s why she’s getting fired up right now or if it’s something else entirely.
She flops back against the bed, huffing out a breath.
“I’m just being bitchy because I feel like crap and I’m a little embarrassed.”
Chuckling, I lift up on my elbow and look down at her. “Why are you embarrassed?”
Ashley lifts her head and narrows her eyes at me. “Because I just had sex with a stranger for one? And then I ranted at him for trying to be nice and make sure that we were okay, even trying to apologize like a decent person because he was afraid that he’d taken advantage of me.” She drops her head back down to the bed. “That’s why.”
I bark out a laugh then a lot occurs to me. It’s not like I know her all that well, but I obviously know what she’s like when she’s been drinking. And rambling is one of her tells. Though, I suppose she could ramble a lot but something tells me… “Are you still drunk?”
“Definitely.”
“Yeah. Me, too,” I admit.
“Good. Then maybe we’ll both forget everything that I just said.”