2
HOLLY
I come to with one of the worst headaches that I’ve ever had in my life. For a couple of minutes I just lay there with my eyes closed, trying to remember why I’m in this state, and what I did to get like this. Tempting the pain, I open my eyes and wince at the sunlight coming through my bedroom window. I’m in my room at least, thank god. For a moment I was half terrified I’d ended up doing something stupid.
There was a guy last night though wasn’t there? Or maybe there wasn’t. I sit up in bed gingerly and try to remember. There are random images in my memory of a knockout guy with a body to die for. Was he a waiter or something? He was dressed like a male stripper. Where even was I last night?
My grandmother used to sink three bottles of port a week, and she’d wake looking fresh as a daisy. What was her secret again? Take ten deep breaths and slam a pint of ice cold water? I sit up straight in bed and try it out. First, I empty my lungs of their stale morning breath and take ten fresh gasps of air. Swinging my legs out of bed, I see that there are two glasses of water on the side. Weird. It’s not something I would have done myself. I shrug and grab one of the glasses, drinking it down almost in one. I’m not sure if I feel better or if I want to throw up. I notice there’s also a box of aspirin. Damn. I thought of everything.
I pop two of the aspirin into my mouth and drink half of the second glass. The mattress squeaks as I jump up to open the window and let in some fresh air. The light buzz of a lawn mower floats in from somewhere outside. I stand there momentarily with my eyes closed, breathing in the fresh air while trying to ignore the ache throbbing through my entire body.
The night comes back to me in horrifying drabs, and it’s a full five minutes before I remember what last night even was. It was the ten year anniversary of the PR company that I work for, and the management arranged a massive party on a designer yacht down at the docks. I like my job with the PR company; I get on with everyone and I was looking forward to the party for quite some time. So just what happened?
My phone buzzes on the bedside table behind me and I walk over to look at it. There’s half a dozen messages from my co-worker and friend, Sasha, all asking where I am and if I’m okay. I fire a quick text back to Sash.
I’m alive. Woke up super hung over. What happened last night?
That’s when I see the other message, and it all starts to come back to me. Beneath Sasha’s message is a text from my ex-boyfriend, Lucas.
Hey. Sorry about last night. Didn’t mean to surprise you. Hope you’re okay? You seemed really upset and didn’t take the news well. Call me.
Oh fuck. What did happen?
My memory plays back like a horror film that won’t turn off. Before we set off for the boat, there was a small party at the office after work. That’s when Lucas showed up with his arm wrapped around one of the young secretaries from my floor. I don’t know the girl super well, but I know that she got engaged to her boyfriend recently. I also know that she’s six months pregnant.
As it turns out, Lucas is the cause of that pregnancy. Lucas. The ex-boyfriend that left me three months ago. I was supposed to go in a limo to the office with the rest of the girls, but I took a taxi home. Then what did I do?
My eyes focus on the empty bottle of champagne at the foot of my bed. I guess that is where things started to go wrong. Somewhere in the fog, there is a memory of me shouting defiantly at my bedroom ceiling, promising Lucas that I wasn’t going to let him ruin this night. I got a taxi to the boat party, and things only got worse from there. My memories from the boat all are pretty much non-existent, but I have the general impression that I made an idiot of myself, and there are images of people looking at me in embarrassment. I didn’t see Lucas or his fiance again that night. I think. I hope.
After that, the images become broken. I don’t normally drink a lot, but seeing Lucas was enough of a shock to kick start my brain into ‘awful decisions’ mode. At least I didn’t end up sleeping with anyone, that would only have made things a hundred times worse. I sit on the bed for a moment trying to remember the rest, though I’m not that sure I really want to know.
I read once that alcohol blackouts happen not because you can’t remember, but because your brain never even recorded the information in the first place. It’s almost like you’re still recording, but you’ve left the lens cap on.
Jumping up, I walk to the shower gingerly and decide it’s probably for the best I left on my lens cap. Seeing myself in my drunken state would only make me feel worse.
A blast of steaming hot water helps in sobering me up. The hot water helps take the tension out of my aching muscles, and it feels good just to get clean again. I dry myself off, pin my hair up in a quick bun and throw some comfortable clothes on. Downstairs, I decide to treat myself to a big cooked breakfast. I don’t feel as nauseous now that I’ve showered, and my stomach is positively growling for some nourishment. The first thing I usually see in the morning when I head into the kitchen is my cat, Twinkie, sat at her food bowl dutifully, waiting to be fed. Unusually, there’s no sign of her this morning, and it appears my services as a loving owner are not required.
I’ve never met a cat with such a strict body clock for food. If I’m not downstairs at the prescribed time, she doesn’t wait a second to come upstairs and wake me. I’m a little late, so the fact that she’s not here is a little concerning. I shrug it off, deciding that I must have put food down for her last night, and get to work making breakfast for myself.
My stomach is demanding a plate of waffles, bacon, eggs and everything else it can think of. I fire up pans to start the food and then I hear a sound coming from the living room. A cough.
Freezing, my body goes stiff as a statue as I stand there waiting for another sound. I walk forward silent as I can, rolling my bare feet against the cool tiles of the kitchen floor. The blinds are open in my living room. Rounding the corner, I see there is a man sleeping on my couch, and Twinkie is sound asleep on his chest.
Shit. Fuck. What the fuck. Who is this!?
I dart back into the kitchen instantly, not sure what I should do. Survival skills take over my rational thinking and I pick up a fire extinguisher, holding the nozzle out like it’s a high powered gun. Cautiously, I lean back around the door frame and study the sleeping man once more. My fingers tighten around the fire extinguisher as my eyes get a better look at him. He’s wearing jeans, and a tight white t-shirt that clings to his muscled torso well. He’s on his back with his hands on his chest, circling Twinkie who is curled up tight just under his chin. The more I look at him the more familiar he seems.
It can’t be. Can it? No.
I retreat back to safety again and pull out my phone. The Internet opens and I’m on his profile straight away. Fuck. That’s not a good sign. I must have been stalking him while I was drunk. He’s the hunk. The hero. Notorious. Nate fucking Rogers. Leaning back around the door, I hold my phone up to confirm that the man sleeping on my couch is in fact the dreamboat on my screen. I realize I’m still holding a fire extinguisher and feel a bit ridiculous. This guy is hot, but he’s not that hot.
Another memory flashes through my mind. I’m on the boat with Sasha, trying to avoid Lucas, and she’s telling me how ‘Notorious’ Nate saved a baby girl, and that he was the same guy driving the limo. Limo. I missed it didn’t I? So why is there a faint memory of…
Oh god. He’s sat up, and he’s looking at me with a smile that could melt panties. Twinkie has jumped off his chest and his cleaning herself on the rug.
“Holly. Morning. You feeling any better? Is there a fire?”
He knows my name, he’s standing up, and he’s walking over to me. He’s in my house for some reason. He’s the womanizer. He’s notorious. Why is he here? How did he get here? Nate is heading straight for me, and I’m stood there like a deer in the headlights. I can’t explain why I do what I do next, I just do it and regret it later. I freak out.
“Stay away!” I lift the fire extinguisher, point it straight at him and squeeze. A cold cloud of white completely drowns out the living room, accompanied by the sound of Nate yelling. A second later something strong wretches the extinguisher out of my hands and I hear windows opening. It takes a minute for the air to clean. When it does, I see Nate stood there, covered head to toe in white, glaring at me.
“What the heck was that for?”
“I’m sorry.” I say, blurting it out. “I thought you were going to—”
“Going to?”
Seduce me? I can’t bring myself to say it. It sounds ridiculous, even if it is true. Nate is obviously here for a reason, even if I can’t remember it. I clench my jaw and stand up straight. This is my house, and he is the one that is here without an explanation.
“Who are you and what are you doing in my house?”
He stares at me for a moment, and his ire seems to melt away. He brushes a hand through his hair and a smoky cloud of white springs up. “You mean you don’t remember?”
“No.”
Nate talks me through the evening. Or his account of the evening at least. He recorded everything it seemed, and he didn’t have his lens cap on.
“So let me get this straight. I stumbled off the boat, drunk, crying, waltzed over to you and tried to hit on you?” I say the words with disbelief, but I believe every single one of them. Who wouldn’t hit on Nate? Just look at him.
“That’s right princess. I took you home out the goodness of my heart. I even tucked you in and got you water and aspirin for your killer hangover. I guess this is my thanks.”
“If I wanted to ‘fuck’ you so badly, why did you end up sleeping down here on the couch with Twinkie?”
“Twinkie?”
“My cat.”
“Oh.” He chuckles, and the sound of his laugh does funny things to me. “You were too drunk. It didn’t feel right. Don’t get me wrong, you looked good, but your mind wasn’t in the right place. I didn’t want to take advantage.”
“Wouldn’t have stopped most other people.”
“Well I guess I’m not most people.”
But you’re Notorious. You’re the womanizer that has allegedly bedded hundreds. Why not add one more notch? I don’t mean to brag, but I looked half decent last night. Probably not so decent when I was drunk and blubbering, but it means something that Nate had the decency not to make a move.
“Thanks, I guess.” I’m grateful, but still a little suspicious. “Who took my clothes off?”
“That was you. You stripped in the kitchen and tried to kiss me while your hands got familiar with my crotch.”
My eyes shoot down to his crotch and I feel my cheeks burning with red. Holy heck Holly, have you got no shame?
“I’m so sorry.”
His eyes twinkle, and his lips curl into a smile that looks very kissable. “Look, don’t worry about it. You were drunk, and you had a bad night from the sounds of things. What happened on that boat exactly?”
I grimace, trying to phrase my woe in a way that doesn’t make me seem like a complete loser. My ex is engaged and pregnant with a younger girl. The only serious boyfriend I ever had was cheating on me. My life is fucked. I’ve just sprayed you with a fire extinguisher.
“It’s complicated.” Is all I can muster.
Nate’s brows pop up. “I bet. I’m going to use your shower if that’s okay. I have a change of clothes in the limo out front.”
“Go right ahead. I’ll make some breakfast in attempt to apologize.”
“Sounds great.”
Nate wanders off up stairs to get clean while I head into the kitchen to make an apology breakfast. I’m halfway through the bacon and eggs when I remember why I never cook for other people. I’m on my third attempt when Nate’s voice sounds from behind me.
“I love the smell of burnt food in the morning.”
I turn around and see the squeaky clean Adonis standing in the kitchen wearing little else than a towel. The small white sheet is tied off just underneath his stomach, and his muscular torso is the only thing I can look at. I’ve ogled his pictures plenty of times on social media before, but seeing him like this in public for real, it’s something else altogether.
“Yeah, I’m actually a pretty terrible cook.”
“Here, let me take care of it.” He puts his hands on my shoulders and moves me to the kitchen table in a way that feels commanding and somehow respectful. Here I am sitting in my own home and this perfect stranger is moving me around like he’s lived here for years. He gets on with cooking and doesn’t make too many unnecessary attempts at conversation. Truth be told I’m kind of glad. I’m still mortified about my behavior last night / this morning, and trying to make myself seem normal doesn’t seem that appetizing.
Five minutes later, the aroma of perfect cooked breakfast food is floating through the kitchen. Nate comes over with two plates of cooked perfection and sets one down in front of me. We eat in silence mostly, and it occurs to me that this is the weirdest goddamn breakfast that I’ve ever had. It’s not like there’s something wrong with the food, as a matter of fact it’s the opposite, this might be some of the best breakfast food I’ve had in my entire life.
It’s the nature of the situation. Here I am sitting in my own home with Notorious Nate. He’s something of a local legend. He’s here in my home, he’s cooked breakfast for me, and I got so drunk he didn’t want to sleep with me.
Luckily, his eyes are trained down on his phone and he doesn’t see the second wave of crimson as it floods through my cheeks. I’ve never felt so mortified in my life. The sooner I get out of here, the better. It doesn’t take long for Nate to clean his plate. As soon as he does, he stands up and puts it in the sink. All the while his phone is buzzing away, and I realize it must be messages from his many admirers.
My heart sinks at the realization that my chance with Notorious Nate is gone. At the moment, I’m not even a blip on his radar, and he’s probably already lined up his next five conquests.
The thought only makes me feel worse. He disappears from the kitchen without a word, and a minute later he is back, dressed in a fresh set of clothes and looking better than ever. I slink over at the table, trying to hide my scruffy hair, low key outfit and lack of makeup.
“I can’t say this hasn’t been interesting, but I’ve got to go. There’s a limo outside which needs returning.”
“Sure.” I try my best at forcing a smile. Next thing, Nate is gone and I’m all alone in the house again. I thought it would be better when Nate left, but the weight of my shame and embarrassment only feels worse. Mixed with that there is the latent feeling of anger toward Lucas. Just who the fuck does he think he is? I clench my fists and take a deep breath, simultaneously feeling like I want to scream and cry.
On the bright side, I’ll probably never see Notorious Nate again, so this dreadfully embarrassing twelve hours will only relive itself in my head every night for the rest of my life. That bright side has a nagging sadness behind it, however. The man is beautiful and having him around the house felt damned good. His twinkling green eyes and his warm velvety laugh felt good, and his deep voice did strange things to my body.
A meow sounds from behind me, and I turn to see Twinkie sat by her food bowl. Her eyelids are flat with disapproval, and I swear she even nods at the food dish.
It’s 9:30 bozo. She says with her cold yellow eyes. Where this food at?
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll get you your food now, you impatient little troll. I notice you were more than happy to be cuddled up in the arms of Nate. Enjoy your lie in together?”
Her face remains expressionless until I open the tin of her food. Truth be told I’m a little jealous of Twinkie. Notorious Nate was in my house last night. I should have fallen asleep in his arms, but my cat beat me to it.
What is my life becoming?