When I open my eyes, the bright morning sunshine feels like knives repeatedly stabbing my forehead. I snap them closed and groan. Fuck.

Why’d I drink so much at the bar? Oh God. My head aches so bad. Covering my eyes with one hand, I block out the rays of sunlight coming in the window.

Is it possible to die from a hangover? If not, I might just be the first documented case. I lick my lips and notice the horrible taste in my mouth. Gross. I’d kill for some mouthwash right now, but it would be too much work to get out of bed. I think I’d prefer to stay here and succumb to my hangover. Harlow Summers hangover death patient zero. I’ll be famous on all college campuses nationwide and used in public service ads as an example of how not to act like a complete newb when you’ve already been in college for two years.

Snuggling down under the covers, I pray I’ll feel better soon. My feet are freezing and so are my legs. I must’ve been too drunk to put on pajama bottoms and socks. While sliding my feet back and forth on the smooth sheets to warm them, the bottom of my foot makes contact with a hairy leg. Gasping, my foot quickly retreats to my side. Another gasp escapes me when I sit up and realize who’s in bed beside me – Brady Lincoln. Pain grips my head and my hands move up to gently cradle both sides of it.

“You…” Is all that comes out. I’m at a loss for words.

He smiles, his dimple in his right cheek showing. “Me,” he says with a wink and a nod of his head. “Good morning, kitten. This isn’t the reaction I usually get from women in my bed.”

“How…you...me?” I sputter, clearly frazzled. As if waking up with him wasn’t bad enough, I have no idea how I ended up here in his very large comfortable bed and not in my own twin sized bed. I glance down and notice I’m wearing a Boston University Terriers shirt and I know it must be his. My hands drop to smooth over the material, then pluck it away from my chest. “Did you undress me?” I question, my voice shrill.

He sits up and the sheet slips down to his lap revealing his bare chest. My mouth drops open and I can’t stop my body’s reaction to him no matter how hard I try. I could possibly be drooling. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a muscular torso in my entire life. It’s all I can do to stop myself from stretching my arm out so my fingers can graze his chest. I want to trace them over the BU Terriers mascot tattooed there and then let my hand run down over the ridges of his abs.

I need to get out of here. Brady Lincoln is the ultimate bad boy treat for someone who’s as sex starved as I am. He’s like a piece of cake fresh from the oven, dripping with a thick layer of frosting, tempting you to stray from your diet. It tastes so good at the time, but then the self-loathing sets in because you’ve been trying to lose five pounds you gained during freshman year – make that six now and you hate yourself for being too weak to resist.

Brady Lincoln is my “cake.”

He’s a threat to my methodical practices and it’s time for me to get the hell out of here.

“Harlow, calm down. I didn’t take advantage of you while you were passed out.” He runs his fingers through his messy hair pushing it back off his face. “You got really drunk and Raine was leaving with Cameron. I told her I’d make sure you got home safe. We were in the cab heading toward your place when you made the driver pull over. You got so sick, you could barely stand. I knew I couldn’t leave you alone. I brought you back here because it was closer and I changed your shirt because it was a mess. But, I didn’t touch your bra; you did. And don’t worry I turned my back like a perfect gentleman. I didn’t see a thing – or two things.” He winks at me.

Oh. My. God. I threw up in front of Brady Lincoln. My face burns with embarrassment. This couldn’t get much worse – unless I threw up on him. Crap.

“I didn’t throw up on you, did I?” My voice is a panicked squeak.

He chuckles. “No, I managed to avoid the line of fire.”

Oh, dear god. My head slumps forward. If it was possible to die from humiliation I’d be a spirit floating merrily away right now. Death might be preferable to the remorse I’m experiencing.

I slide to the edge of the bed and hold his shirt down over my ass while rising to my feet. He’s seen enough of me already.

“Where are my clothes?” I question, not spotting them anywhere.

“I washed them and threw them in the dryer for you.” He slides out of bed and my eyes track his every move, checking him out from head to toe, front to back and every imaginable angle in between.

My eyeballs move to his snug, black boxer briefs and the obvious morning wood he’s sporting. I don’t want to look at him; I’m trying not to. I know this is the only time I’ll have this opportunity because I don’t plan to see Brady again. Ever.

And like metal drawn to a magnet, my gaze can’t seem to resist the pull of his almost naked body. I hope he’s not paying attention.

He pulls on a clean white t-shirt and some black basketball shorts, looking like the quintessential athlete.

“Let me grab your stuff and then I’ll make you some breakfast.”

“No.” The word leaves me with more force than I intended, but there’s no way I want to stay here with him any longer than I have to. “I’m not hungry anyway,” I reply, nervously tugging at the bottom of the shirt I’m wearing. I’m not used to being in this situation. I’ve never spent the night with a guy other than my ex-boyfriend Rob and even though Brady and I didn’t even kiss, it’s still unbelievably awkward.

“Okay then, no food. Gotcha. I’ll just go grab your clothes for you.” He gestures toward the door with his head and I nod. Sitting down on the edge of his large bed my eyes roam around his room. The walls are painted a dull white and he has BU sports memorabilia displayed on a bookcase situated between two large windows. His steel topped desk sits against one of the side walls and there’s a closed laptop situated on it. The rest of the desktop is clean and clutter free. A tall dark stained bureau stands against the wall closest to where I’m seated. The wood is marked up with numerous scratches like he bought it used or maybe it came with the apartment. It doesn’t seem like something the son of a former NFL player would own. I wonder what else about him would surprise me?

“Here you go,” his deep voice interrupts my thoughts. I shouldn’t be thinking about him at all. I need to get the hell out of here and pretend I never met Brady.

He hands me my jeans and shirt and I notice how neatly they’re folded. It was considerate of him to wash them for me. This guy keeps surprising me and I don’t like it – not one little bit. I don’t want him to be more than the young, dumb, full of come jock I’ve always assumed he was.

“Thank you,” my voice is soft, barely more than a whisper. He has me feeling emotionally off balance and it’s completely out of character for me. I don’t let people close enough to affect me like this. Even Rob my ex-boyfriend never made me feel this thrilling sense of unease.

Being around Brady is exciting and frightening at the same time. So many untapped possibilities for us to explore and so much devastation when he gets what he wants from me and casts me aside like every other girl he’s slept with.

Rising to my feet, I glance up at him. An icy jolt of awareness runs through me when our eyes lock. It makes me shiver. My attraction to him is gaining momentum with each second spent in his presence. His blue eyes are hypnotic and I have to force myself to look away.

I hold my bundle of clothes in front of my chest like a shield to protect me from the heat of his gaze as he slowly looks me over from the tips of my purple toe nails to the top of my dark unruly morning hair.

A muscle tics in his cheek. “Get dressed. I’ll be waiting in the kitchen.” His voice is hoarse.

I nod and as soon as he’s closed the door behind him I tear his t-shirt off, throwing it on the bed. Slipping my bra and shirt on, like I’m in a race against the clock, I remind myself not to think about how comfortable his t-shirt felt against my skin. I shouldn’t think about how it smelled like him either.

Sliding my jeans over my hips, I scan his floor for my missing socks while zipping up and buttoning. Spotting both peeking out from under his bed, I scoop them up and sit on the edge of the mattress to tug them on my feet.

Once my shoes are on my eyes make one final journey around Brady Lincoln’s private sanctuary knowing without a doubt this is the only time I’ll ever be in this room.

Soon he’ll tire of me turning him down. The thrill of the chase will turn into annoyance at the amount of work it’s become. He’ll want a girl who puts out and expects nothing in return. That will never be me.

I bet he’s never had to really work for anything. It must be nice to get everything handed to you just because your dad is Lawrence Lincoln, a former NFL player, who now hosts a sports talk show on ESPN. From what I remember, he looks like an older version of Brady; still handsome even in his early fifties. He married some socialite, and they live in New York City. I’m sure Brady will follow the same path as his father which is just one more reason on an extremely long list of why I need to avoid him at all costs.

In his bathroom, I find a brush on top of the countertop and make short work of removing the knots from my morning hair. It takes some effort to get them out and when I’m done I smooth my hand over it. Looking in the mirror at my pale face and my big eyes smudged with the prior night’s makeup I look like I’ve been on a mad bender or fucked hard.

I wish.

Stop it. I scold myself. Thinking about Brady is a big no-no. N.O. Do not go there.

“Do you know where my phone is?” I ask as I enter the kitchen. Brady is facing away from me, giving my eyes the opportunity to study his broad shoulders in his plain white t-shirt. His broad back tapers down to lean hips. His black shorts hang loose but I can still make out the shape of his muscular ass. I want to squeeze it and see if it’s as firm as it looks. I blow my bangs out of my eyes frustrated at the direction my thoughts have once again wandered. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to stop myself from thinking about him. I need a magic wand and a spell to wipe him from my mind and make all memories of him disappear. I picture a little puff of smoke leaving my head.

No more Brady in my brain.

Walking across the large kitchen, I stop next to him. He’s pouring a frothy white mixture from the blender into two glasses. He slides one along the granite counter in my direction.

I glance at the beverage and then flick my eyes to him. “What is that?” I curl my upper lip in distaste.

He smiles at me, raises his glass to his mouth and swallows the drink down in one large gulp. “Ahh.” He licks his manly lips and my eyes follow the path of his tongue. I never wanted to be a tongue so badly.

“Are you going to try it?” He smirks at me and I know he just busted me fantasizing about his tongue. I’m sure his tongue is very dexterous.

Crap, here I go again thinking about him.

Maybe I need a lobotomy. They can surgically remove the piece of my brain he’s lodged in.

“What is it?” I skeptically ask. Just based on what it looks like, I don’t think it can possibly taste good.

“Just try it. Come on, be daring.” His eyes appear a lighter shade of blue in the bright morning sunlight as they sparkle mischievously at me.

I shake my head. “No way. Not until I know what it’s made of. I prefer to be safe.” I hope he understands what my words mean. I’m not the kind of girl he wants. He doesn’t want orderly and predictable, he wants someone who’s going to leap first and look later.

That will never be me.

“Sometimes you just need to try something new – push yourself out of your comfort zone.” He stares down into my eyes and rakes his teeth over his bottom lip.

Is he trying to tell me something? I suck at this reading between the lines thing. I need an interpreter for this shit.

I sweep my bangs off my forehead and look away. Flirting is a fine art I’ve never had time or the desire to develop, but right now in this moment I’m kicking myself for it. I wish I knew what to say to him. Instead, I’m paralyzed by feelings of inadequacy which only makes me seem more awkward.

He inches the glass closer to me with his fingertips. I notice how large his hands are and his nails are clipped short. I wonder what they’d feel like on my skin? On the inside of my thighs?

Oh fuck. I grab the ice-cold beverage and tip it back, swallowing down the first taste. Anything to get my mind off his hands tracing along my skin.

Dear God, make it stop.

I gulp down the rest of the vanilla tasting mixture and slam my glass down on the countertop. I cover my lips with my hand as my taste buds get hit with a weird aftertaste. “Water.” I gasp out. Brady walks the short distance to the fridge and grabs me a bottle of spring water. He twists off the cap before handing it to me.

In my haste to take a sip I spill some down my chin and onto the tops of my breasts. Brady’s eyes track the beads of moisture and I squeeze my thighs together. I want his tongue and lips there sucking them up.

I gulp the water down so fast I choke on it. More water spills from between my lips as I sputter, trying to hold in my cough. Somehow, I swallow the remainder in my mouth before I erupt into a hacking fit of coughing. Tears pour from my eyes and it takes me a full minute to stop.

“Are you okay?” Brady asks, a look of concern on his handsome face. I nod my head and hold up a finger. I can feel how red my face has become and I’m sure my already smudged makeup is now messily trailing down my cheeks. I wipe under each eye as I catch my breath.

Fuck my life. I won’t have to remind myself to forget about Brady because he’s never going to want to see me again. Right about now it must be registering with him what a disaster I am.

The coughing fit settles down until it’s a sporadic single cough here and there.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks his eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It just went down the wrong pipe.” I don’t know why I feel the need to explain. Hasn’t everyone choked on a drink at some point?

“I’m going to call a cab now. Thanks for taking care of me last night.” I take a step back and move to turn around when his large fingers close around my upper arm stopping me in my tracks.

“You don’t need a cab, I’ll take you home. What’s the rush, kitten?” I glance at his hand wrapped around my arm. Those same hands work magic on the football field. I bet they work magic in the bedroom too.

Don’t go there, Harlow.

“I have a project I need to work on.” My eyes shift, looking around the kitchen, afraid he’ll see the lie reflected in them. Thankfully, he doesn’t push.

“Let me grab some sneakers and my keys and we’ll hit the road. I don’t want to interfere with your perfect GPA.” He grins crookedly, a quick glimpse of his dimple appears, before he walks away.

My hand goes to my chest and I close my eyes as I take a few long, slow breaths. How am I supposed to resist him when he’s flashing his dimple in my face? I’m going to stop looking at him altogether.

“Here.” He walks back into the kitchen. Our fingers touch as he passes me my phone, my fake I.D and the twenty dollar bill I brought to the bar. “This was in the pocket of your jeans when I washed them.” I don’t think I’ve ever been so aware of a guy before. Every contact or interaction we have seems magnified.

Maybe I’m just turning the strong attraction I feel for him into something more.

“Thanks. I’d be screwed if I lost this.” I hold up my phone. “My stepmom would have my head and guilt trip me for the rest of my life if she had to buy me a new one.” I push it all down into my front pocket.

Following him out to his vehicle, I’m surprised when the lights flash on a nearby white Chevy Tahoe as he unlocks it with his keyless entry. He opens the door for me and puts his hand on my arm to assist me up. Once I’m settled, he closes me in and gets in the driver’s side.

I rattle off my address and we’re on our way. My apartment is located only five minutes from his. If I wasn’t still feeling under the weather from being hungover I could’ve walked home. As it was, I was so drunk on the taxi ride to his place I didn’t realize how close he lives to me.

When he parks curbside in front of my building I jump out before he’s even shifted into park.

“What – no hug?” he jokes.

“Thanks for the ride home, Brady.” My hand is on the door, ready to close it.

“Say that again,” he tells me with a smile.

“What?” I question confused at what he wants.

“My name.” He smirks. “I like hearing you say it.”

I roll my eyes and slam the door shut. Quickly spinning around, I head for the front door. I don’t want him to know how much it excites me when he says those kinds of things. I don’t think I can stop this attraction I feel for him. I’m going to avoid him at all costs. It’s the easiest solution.