Have you ever woken with your face plastered to a foreign pillow, the drunken slobber of your sleep being what keeps you attached to said pillow?

No?

Well I have … way more times than I care to admit. And right now is one of those moments when I am waking, unsure of what happened the night before and completely befuddled as to where I am.

The dark pillow moves with me as I lift my head to take in my unfamiliar surroundings. The soft sunlight of the morning sneaks in around the deep purple blackout curtains, gracing me with enough light to make out parts of the outlandish room. The size is what is outlandish; the decorating is sparse.

Aside from the massive, extremely comfortable bed, I find a dresser, nightstand, and two doors. Both are open; one leading to a closet and the other to a bathroom. I push the pillow down and roll over to sit up. That’s when I feel the press of a soft body and hear a lazy, sleepy groan next to me under the pile of black and purple sheets.

As carefully as I can, I pull the covers down, revealing a sleeping and very naked Paige. Like a flashback on crack, everything from last night comes back to me. Sex at the bonfire, making out on the way here, her stripping at the front door, fucking in this room, the shower, bent over the dresser, and then the bed again before we crashed.

“Holy fuck.” Scrubbing my hands over my face, I fall back against the headboard. The thud I make startles me, and I quickly check to see if I woke her. She moves from her stomach to her back, her tattooed arm resting between us now.

I remember looking at her leg and the phoenix with the angels on her back last night. Now, I get an opportunity to check out the ink on her arm.

The color scheme is the same as her leg; black and white with splashes of red. Covering her shoulder is an old-style decaying compass; the needle is wielded in the middle as if it was fixed. On her inner bicep is a melting skull; more accurately, it is a skull with the flesh of a former face melting away, dripping down into the juncture where her forearm and upper arm meet. On the opposite side, there is another scroll. This one stating:

I suffered

I learned

I changed

I conquered

Her forearm is by far the most feminine ink she has. Flowers, not sure of the kind, bloom all over her arm, wrapped with vines of chains and tire tracks rather than actual plant vines. They bleed into and become the backdrop to crossed pistols on the top of her hand. P.B. is stamped on the barrels of both.

RIDE is written across her knuckles. If I bend close enough, I can see a few tattoos on her fingers as well. A skeleton looking feather, Freedom, fuck you on her middle finger, and that is all I am able to see.

I smile at all this random ink on this dark angel. That’s how she looks in her sleep; even with her brows creased, she looks heavenly. She’s the one woman who makes me want to shout out poetry and be a complete wuss. I could watch her all day if I could.

But I can’t because nature calls.

I swing my legs over the bed and find my footing on hardwood flooring. The amount I drank last night is lost to me; I can’t be certain how drunk I was, but I do know I can recall every detail of last night with her. Hitting the head is harder than you think it is for a guy first thing in the morning. My dick aches, and even being hard for the morning, it takes some time to get my stream flowing. Finishing my business, I meander back into the room and look for my clothes strung out across the room. Thankfully, my keys, phone, and wallet are still in the pockets of my shorts.

Once dressed, I shove my feet into my runners and watch Paige continue to sleep. She’s dead to the world around her. Her hair rolls in waves around her face and pillow, blending in with the dark colors.

She shivers, and just when I think she is going to wake, she grabs the covers and conceals herself once more under the small mountain she has on the bed. I can’t help but smile.

Wait a tit, I’m smiling? It’s who knows what time in the fucking morning, and I’m smiling?

It is confirmed, people—miracles do happen.

I can’t remember the last time I woke feeling happy. Certainly hasn’t been in the past several years. Shaking off the ridiculous feeling of happiness, especially with a woman who I barely know causing it, I head out of the bedroom, trying to retrace the path we took last night up to the room.

The house is bigger than I thought it was. I never understood why people felt the need to have such a massive place to live in. The lounge room is the same size as Jax’s and my flat; a whole wall is nothing but glass, and the view is breathtaking.

Big Piney is in the forefront, dominating the landscape with Maple Ridge.

“Beautiful.” Like the homeowner. Leaving the room, I follow the scent of coffee brewing down into another expanse space. Entering the kitchen takes me by surprise. It isn’t spotless like you see most homes they feature on television. This kitchen is well used and lived in. Three cups occupy the counter, so I help myself to one and make a mad dash to the coffeepot and pour myself a cup. My eyes close as I inhale the nectar of the gods.

Thank fuck for coffee. I don’t think I could function without it.

Taking a drink, I let the hot fluid sear my tongue and all the way down to my stomach. I turn around and slowly open my eyes to find Parker sitting on the stool across from me. A shit-eating grin is firmly in place on his otherwise relaxed, sleep-ridden face.

“Morning.” He reaches up and scratches his head and waves one of the cups for me to take and fill it for him. He reminds me of one of the ginger twins in Harry Potter.

“I’m not Harry, and you sure as fuck aren’t Fred.” I don’t take his cup. This is his house; he can get his own shit.

He laughs. “Even in a great mood first thing in the morning.” Getting up, he moves around to fill his cup. “I wasn’t expecting to see you this morning.” He leans against the counter.

“And why is that?” I didn’t see him last night when we left the party. I’m assuming he came home with his own guest. “What? Do you two not shit where you eat?”

His grin turns into an all-out smile. “It’s fucking awesome the way you cuss. Wish I was that cool.” He lifts his cup but drops it again. “And no, we don’t. Well, I do, but Paige has never.”

“Really?”

I’m a first?

What does this mean for my plot in Paige’s life?

Does this mean I’m special to her?

Maybe I’ll become something more?

Why am I being a total woman and worrying about it all?

“Paige has only ever done random hookups wherever she is partying and has never had the same guy more than once …” His voice carries off as his eyes grow wide with the realization he said more than he probably wanted to about his sister.

“Couldn’t this be a good thing? Maybe she wants something more than a random hookup.”

His head started shaking in the middle of my question. “No, no, that’s not Paige. Don’t get me wrong, man, I like you and all but just because Paige brought you home one night doesn’t mean she is going to change.” He rounds the counter again and takes his seat. “Mark my words. Paige will be done with you soon.”

I don’t know Paige well enough to know if what Parker says is true or not. I honestly don’t want to take his advice, but at the same time, I’m wary not to keep it in mind as I push forward with her.

“You never know—”

“Speaking of a piece o’ ass, tell me about this Megan.” He steeps his fingers in front of him, looking more business than bad boy in that brief instant.

My eyes narrow, and my normal morning expression is back in place. “What do you want to know about her?”

“Well …” He leans back, draping an arm over the back of his seat. “First, is she available?” His eyes turn molten and a salacious grin spreads. “And the other is, is she amazing in bed?”

I know he is changing the subject, and it is too tempting not to take it up. He is interested in Megan, and she has been driving me crazy. What better way to do away with her clingy behavior than to pawn her off on another?

“She’s available.” I start to drink my coffee quicker.

“Yeah?” This perks the little shit up. “And in bed? Come on; you tapped that, didn’t you?”

“She’s all right.” I shrug, not really in the mood for discussing sex with another woman when I just fucked his sister all night. This would give Megan other routes to pursue, all leading away from me.

“Is she pretty tight?”

A clearing throat jerks both of our attention to the entrance of the kitchen. Paige stands there, dressed in jeans and a tight black t-shirt; her hands rest on her hips but she wears a coy smile on her red lips.

“Morning.” Her arse sways as she walks into the kitchen, skipping the coffee cup and going straight for the refrigerator to get something to eat. I’m completely transfixed by the way the dark denim covers and stretches over her arse.

She stands, throwing her hair over her shoulder, and I see just one of the marks I left on her last night. My dick swells, hardening in my shorts. I want to beat the shit out of her brother, knocking him out so I can fuck her right there on the counter.

Paige sets everything up and starts a shockingly hearty, healthy breakfast. She moves to a bowl and kisses me softly and quickly on the cheek. I grin, turning to Parker, who is slack-jawed and wide-eyed by his sister’s action.

“Morning.” I kiss her hair, taking in the smell of her unique scent.

“I was wondering if you had any plans for the day.” Paige mixes and whips up a few egg white omelets with vegetables and some turkey bacon.

My grin continues while Parker rolls his eyes and snags an omelet.

“Nothing, why?”

She turns, handing a plate over to me. “Spend the day with me.”

I love that she doesn’t ask me; she just demands. I could say no I’m busy and she would more than likely be cool with that.

“Aces.” I sit and dig into the omelet.

“Great.” She takes a seat next to her brother. “Find Oz a pair of pants he can borrow. No skinny and nothing too baggy.”

“Aye, aye, mon captain.” Parker salutes her, barely dodging her jab to his shoulder.

I watch the two of them banter back and forth, making me miss my own sister. I’ll have to give Priscilla a call tonight. I miss hearing her still annoying as hell high-pitched voice. Last time we talked, she was telling me all about this boyfriend our parents loved. Yeah, right. The guy is probably a complete tool, and the old man just hasn’t figured it out yet.

“Let’s go.” Paige slaps the table, leaving the dishes there, and starts for the door, not waiting for me. While I wait, I look around and wonder for a moment where Len could be.

Parker has already left but quickly returns with a pair of pants.

“Hope they fit.” He thrusts them into my arms. My waist is a little bigger than his is. I duck into the hallway, keeping my eyes on Paige as she walks down the long corridor. Slipping my shorts off, I shove my runner covered feet into the pants and pull them up.

Yes, I’m talented. I did all this while walking.

Taking off my clothes is a specialty of mine.

I catch up to her just as she opens the door to the prettiest garage I have ever seen. Garages can be pretty if you know the beauty they can hold. For example, look at all the amazing and majestic cars, bikes, and trucks this one holds. There are no dirt bikes here, and hell, since I know they live up here in Promontory, I’m sure they have another garage for those toys. The bikes in this garage are for pleasure riding and to show off.

That’s where Paige is heading, throwing on a leather jacket.

Right. To. The. Bikes.

She passes them, grabbing another leather jacket and two helmets. My head is already shaking; my skin feels clammy when she turns to me. “Here.” She hands me the jacket and the helmet.

“I-I ca-can’t,” I stutter. Fucking twat waffle, foreskin hell, I can’t do this!

Slowly, I begin to back away.

“Sure, you can.” She forces the gear into my hands and looks back at the bike closest to us. A very nice Aprilia RSV.