My first conscious thought on waking was the most fervent wish that I could just die and get it over with. My head was throbbing like there was a woodpecker in it. I hadn’t even opened my eyes yet, but it already felt like the rays of sunshine coming through my bedroom window were trying to kill me. Why the hell hadn’t I closed the blinds? Why was drunk me so stupid?

I pulled the blanket over my head, but that wasn’t helpful since it meant having to smell my own breath, which was rank. I vaguely remembered throwing up twice during the night, and not having the will to brush my teeth. I made an opening for my breath to escape, hoping I’d at least reached the bathroom both times. I thought I had, but who knew? Maybe drunk de had decided to leave a surprise for poor, hungover me.

That was bad until I remembered my trip to Max’s apartment. A whole other level of pain hit me.

“No. No. No,” I groaned, whimpering a little from the pain in my head and in my heart. What was I thinking? Oh, right. I was thinking how hot he was, and how much I hated Josh.

What must he think of me? I could only imagine. Little snippets of our conversation came back making me cringe with shame. I was such a mess the entire time. Thank God, the Super had come when he did, or who knew where I’d be waking up—or where I would have thrown up. No way a make-out session like that one would have ended in anything but wild sex. I would have thrown up in his bed, on his body. Oh, God. It didn’t bear thinking about.

I hated wine. I would never drink wine again. Wine was poor decision juice. Bad, bad wine.

No way I could make it to work, especially with the thought of seeing Josh. When I was free from the clutches of impending death, I would have to give a lot of thought to how to move forward. In the meantime, I fumbled around for my phone, grabbed it and pulled it under the blanket with me. Dialing Tracee, I left a mumbled message for her that included something about my stomach, feeling sick, and coming in tomorrow. The less detail, the better. Only people who were lying left lengthy messages.

I decided to venture out of bed a couple of hours later, after waking for the second time. I didn’t feel much better, but I didn’t feel any worse. It was a good first step. And no nasty surprises from drunk me. An excellent second step.

Once I got moving and decided my head was not, in fact, about to fall off, horror spread through me again as my behavior with Max last night worked its way into my thoughts again. I couldn’t shake the memory of that…that kiss.

Actually, I don’t even know if you can call what happened just a kiss. Even in my state of total misery, the memory of the way his lips felt on mine was clear—and even a little bit of a turn-on.

I guess he had had a lot of practice. His technique was smooth, sexy, and so intensely masculine, he just about melted my panties clean off. I could imagine women throwing themselves at him. I didn’t want to be just another one of those women. But I was.

Because if what I did wasn’t throwing myself at him, I didn’t know what was. I held my head in my hands, sitting on the edge of my tub as I waited for it to fill.

“I climbed into his lap,” I moaned to nobody in particular. “I tried to hump him. Oh, God.”

But God wouldn’t help me. God was too busy shaking His head in disappointment. It wasn’t my fault. It was the wine’s fault. And Josh’s, since he was the reason wine and I got together in the first place.

As I soaked in silky bubbles, I imagined seeing Max him again and barely managed to keep from drowning myself. No way. I couldn’t put myself through that kind of humiliation.

“He probably thinks I’m a slut,” I muttered miserably.

Well, his opinion is probably no better than it had been before. I vaguely remembered him giving some kind of explanation that he was lost in his own thoughts most of the time, but somehow, I didn’t buy it. He was not lost in his thoughts. He was deliberately unfriendly to me, so it was not like I’d fallen far in his estimation. That was cold comfort, but it was the closest thing to comfort I had.

“Damn, Josh,” I cursed aloud.

And I had ugly cried. Ugh! Stupid me. Then I remembered that Max had tried to comfort me. He had been nice, hadn’t he? I wasn’t misremembering it. At least, I didn’t think so. I’d sure as hell never ask him face-to-face. There was only so much humiliation a girl could take.

I soaked in the tub until my skin pruned. By the time I got out, I felt a lot better—physically, at least. Mentally, on the other hand, all I could do was worry about what to say to Max when we ran into each other again. That was inevitable and I might as well prepare for it. I would thank him, of course, because he’d taken care of me. I owed him for that.

Maybe I could wear a bag over my head while I thanked him since I couldn’t imagine looking him in the eye and I was sure my face would turn tomato red. Maybe a letter! That was it. I breathed a sigh of relief.

I would write a “thank you” letter. No, I would buy a card. And I’d thank him that way and slide it under his door. No. In his mailbox. That way, I wouldn’t face humiliation if he happened to be on the other side of the door. Yes. Perfect solution.

When I walked out into the living room, my thoughts had moved from Max to the idea of breakfast. My stomach was still all sorts of messed up, thanks to the wine, but everybody who’d ever had a hangover knew that greasy food was the best solution. It didn’t help that somebody nearby was cooking something that smelled incredible.

Then, I froze in place. Wait a minute. I didn’t have any neighbors except for Max. No way could I smell cooking smells from other buildings. I tiptoed to the front door, sniffing the air. Sure enough, the smell got stronger the closer I got. What the heck?

I peered out the peephole, but the hallway was empty. Finally, I dared open the door, and what I found made my mouth drop open in surprise. On the floor, in a box, was a mouth-wateringly good hangover-breakfast-in-a bun that the Deli nearby specializes in, a liter bottle of water and a large cup of coffee.

I looked up and down the hall, but of course, Max was nowhere to be found. The big bun and the coffee were still hot, too. Hmmm…I wondered how he knew. My bath did make a horrible glugging sound whenever I unplugged it.