“Tell me about this little fantasy of yours.”

“I’m so cold.” She shivers, so I pull her in more tightly, wrapping the comforter around both of us.

“Spill it.”

“I helped you in the right house.” She yawns. “Took your black boots off.”

I would have pushed for more if this scenario didn’t seem a little too familiar to me.

“I kissed you?”

“Uh-huh.” She shivers again. “Best kiss ever.”

Fuck! “Was it now?”

“First kiss ever.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh. Don’t tell Memphis.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I say as I now feel really fucking stupid that I kissed this chick when she was way too young. “I puked on you?”

She doesn’t answer. She is out cold, and still her teeth chatter as her body shakes.

I hop out of bed and walk to the dresser to grab a sweatshirt. The black STD one will work. I laugh, thinking about how pissed off the X-man was when he saw the shocker symbol.

I uncover her, then pull her long, wavy, wet hair to the side, and she flops to her back. I pull her up and take her arm out of the robe and then the other.

Rag doll. Complete and total rag doll.

Her eyes flutter open. “What are you doing?” She looks confused, but not scared like she should fucking be to have some man taking her damn clothes off.

Before I can answer, she jumps off the bed and darts to the bathroom. I follow her to make sure she doesn’t pass out and fall.

I see her looking in the mirror and then around the vanity. She grabs my toothbrush—my fucking toothbrush—and toothpaste, and then she starts brushing her teeth. She spits into the sink and brushes again. When she is finished, she holds her head in her hands and walks past me in that pink bikini.

I follow her out, and she grabs the sweatshirt I had on the bed for her and puts it on. Then she climbs into bed, still shaking, and pulls the comforter up around her tightly and closes her eyes.

“Well, damn.” I laugh out loud.

I put the bathrobe back in the bathroom and then come back to the bed, lying back down again.

“I locked the door,” she whispers.

What in the fuck did she just say? I can’t hold back the laughter. Tales is talking crazy shit and walking around like she owns the joint. She has no clue.

She groans, and her eyes blink a few times. She opens her eyes and looks at me, then holds her head.

“Where’s Madison?”

“She’ll be here in the morning.”

“I don’t feel good,” she mumbles.

“I know. Sleep.”

“I’m cold,” she says as her teeth clank together.

I pull her closer. Her long, lean, tight body fits perfectly against mine, and she smells so good. Her body starts to relax, and I know she is asleep—well, passed out … again.

I lie next to her, knowing I shouldn’t enjoy it so much. I shouldn’t feel the way I feel about her. The protectiveness I understand because, hell, she is the most innocent chick I have ever been around. Even if she has been with someone in the ‘biblical’ sense, she’s still Tally. Regardless, with a body like mmm, and an ass like POW!, I can’t shake the desire to be all up inside of her.

***

I wake up to the sound of my alarm, lying on my back with a sweet smelling, tight, little body draped over me. As fucked up as I got last night, I know who it is.

“Oh, my dear.” She tries to pull away, but my arm is underneath her side and wrapped around her with POW! in my hand.

“Morning, buzz kill. How are you feeling?”

“How did I end up”—she huffs as she gives up the fight, yet unravels her leg from between mine—“here.”

Reluctantly, I release POW! and let her go. “You were doing shots, got all fucked up in five minutes, threw up on me—”

“I’m so sorry,” she begins.

“Evidently, I had it coming,” I tell her as I roll to my side, facing her as she sits up, looking mortified when she sees the sweatshirt she’s wearing.

“Where are my clothes?”

“Hopefully in the washing machine. Smelled awful.” I can’t help enjoying watching her eyes widen, so I keep it going. “I gave you a bath and—”

“You didn’t,” she gasps.

“Would I lie to you?” I sit up and bow my head so I am eye to eye with her. Except, her eyes aren’t connecting; she is avoiding looking at me. “Tales?”

“Did we …?”

“Take a bath together? Yes. Did I strip you? Yes. Did I wash you? Yes.”

She shakes her head. “Why? Why did you do all that?”

I take in a deep breath and let it out slowly as I get up and turn off the damn alarm. “I needed to clean up after the little vomit shower you gave me. Couldn’t get the stink off you without getting rid of the shorts and T-shirt. Wouldn’t have been cool if I plopped you in the tub and left you. You could have drowned.” I grab a pair of shorts and throw them on over my boxers. Then I grab my black Pearl Jam T-shirt and throw it on before looking back at her.

Finally, she looks up at me. “Did—”

“Tales, does your pussy feel like it went ten rounds with the heavyweight champion of—”

“Memphis!” she yells at me, then grabs her head.

“Well, fuck, Tales, I kind of prefer a warm, active participant in the sheets, not a dry heaving, goose bump covered, shaking, little drunk,” I tease.

She tries not to laugh when I swear, and I try not to laugh at the hellacious mess of curls going every which way on her head.

“We have thirty minutes to get to the airport, and if we’re late, I will have even more hell to pay from Madison than I already do.”

“Is she angry at you?” she asks, running her fingers through her hair.

“I don’t know. Is she?”

She swings her long, lean legs over the side of the bed. “What do you mean?”

“When you told her I kissed you, was she pissed?”

Her jaw drops, and her head jerks back so she’s looking at me like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Well?”

“I need clothes,” I say after far too much uncomfortable silence.

“That’s all you’re gonna say?” he asks.

“What do you want me to say?” I look down. I feel like garbage. My head is pounding, my stomach hurts, and now there are butterflies dancing inside of it.

“Does she know?”

I shake my head.

“Why not?” he asks.

“You were drunk. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Right.” He laughs. “Is your bag in the guest room?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“I’ll grab it. Feel free to brush your teeth. You already used my toothbrush last night.”

I hear him walk out the door, and I quickly walk to the bathroom and then shut and lock the door, as if that matters. I take off the sweatshirt and jump in the shower, washing as fast as I can while still in my bathing suit in case he comes in. I condition my crazy hair and then quickly rinse.

After I get out, I throw my hair up in a towel and see the bathrobe hanging on the back of the door; it reads, HIS. But right now, it’s mine.

My head is still pounding, but my stomach—whenever he’s not around—doesn’t feel so off.

I walk out as he walks in.

He smirks. “Ten minutes,” he warns. “I’ll leave you to it. Hurry up, okay?” With that, he starts to walk out.

“Memphis?”

He looks back at me.

“Thank you.”

He gives me a sly, little grin. “Now you owe me.”

The past two days have been insane, totally insane. I have spent two nights sleeping in the bed of a boy I had a crush on growing up, who happens to also be my first kiss and a rock star, for goodness sakes. If I didn’t know better, I would certainly allow my mind to entertain the little fairytale buzzing around inside it, maybe even serve it tea.

I am dressed, and my hair is wet, yet tamed with product. I brush my teeth with my own toothbrush, and as I am flossing, he walks in.