Screwmates(8)

“Nope,” he said, moving his arm so he could look me in the eye. “That was the bourbon.”

“Fair enough.” Though, I’d had bourbon too, and even though I had no memory of it, I was certain that I’d been able to keep up my part in the game of bedroom Twister. So was he really saying it was the alcohol? Or was he suggesting it was the partner who’d brought the alcohol? I knew we hadn’t had sex. But did he know that?

I sat up, tugging the sheet with me to cover my chest with something beyond my palms. “It’s just never happened before. Not to me.”

His eyes narrowed. “You need a larger sample size before you get to make broad statements like that.”

Oh, right. I’d told him about my scanty romantic history, too. That was a blank I didn’t need to have filled in.

I twisted my lip while I tried to think with an appropriate comeback.

Marc evidently didn’t see any need to wait around while I did. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I’ll, uh, be right back,” he mumbled before standing and showcasing the firmest ass I’d had the pleasure of seeing. Like, ever. Like, not once in my daydreams. Like, not even in my occasional slip into the Tumblr rabbit hole had I seen such deliciousness.

Thank god the bathroom was on his side of the bed, and he couldn’t see the way I stared after him until the door was shut behind him.

Then I threw my head back against the headboard. What had we done?

Perhaps more appropriate––what had we not done?

Seriously, the humiliation was worse with the confirmation that Marc hadn’t even been able to perform. Worse for him, yes, but also worse for me. Because a man who looked like that could be forgiven for any amount of bedroom mishaps. A nerdy little undersexed artist like myself? Yeah, I’d never live this down even if I were the only one who ever gave me shit about it.

I brought my fingers up to rub across my swollen lips. These at least had seen some action. My heart did a little flip-flop at the thought of kissing Marc Kirby. How had that been? How had he tasted? Bourbon-flavored, I’d guess, but what else? Did he kiss softly and tentatively? Or was he as aggressive as I wanted to imagine he’d been?

And wasn’t this fucking typical. I’d actually kissed the hot guy for once, and I still didn’t know the answers. Big fat chance that I’d get another opportunity like that again.

I rolled over so I could scream into his pillow. God, it smelled like him. A mixture of woodsy scents and mint.

The bathroom door opened, and I scrambled to gather the sheet around me so I could take my own turn without exposing any more of my body than necessary.

“Excuse me,” I said, averting my eyes as I brushed past him. He still was buck naked, and it didn’t seem appropriate to stare while he was facing me.

Though, I really was curious about what he was packing up front. Just, not quite brave enough to peek.

With the door shut, I leaned over the bathroom sink and waited for my stomach to settle from getting up too fast while hungover. One look in the mirror confirmed all I’d suspected about my appearance. My normally pale skin was actually ashen, my brown and purple-tipped hair was tangled in knots, and there was a deep red crease along the top of my cheek from where my glasses had pressed against my face in my sleep.

Super attractive. Obviously.

I straightened my specs, then turned on the sink and cupped my hands so I could hydrate. Finding some mouthwash on the counter, I tossed some back and swished it around while I ran my fingers through the rat’s nest on top of my head. By the time I was ready to spit, I realized the endeavor was hopeless. And pointless. Marc had already seen me at my worst. It wasn’t like I was going to be able to fix that impression with anything I did now.

One hand clutching the sheet, I put my other on the door handle and paused. Something in the mirror had caught my eye. I turned to look at the bathtub where the reflection was coming from and sure enough, there was a container of fru-fru bubble bath next to an empty wine cooler.

Shit.

The girlfriend.

I’d forgotten Marc had a fucking girlfriend.

Cursing under my breath, I grabbed the bubble bath and opened the door. “Cucumber Rose, Marc?”

He looked up from where he was perched on the bed, his cheeks reddening. “You looked in my bathtub?”

“It was on the outer edge. I didn’t even have to snoop for it.” Point for me on that one. Because if the man hadn’t religiously kept his bedroom door locked, I would have snooped months before. It’s important to know your roommates.

“Well.” I could see him swallow from where I stood. “Now you know.”

“That you have a girlfriend? A girlfriend who probably wouldn’t appreciate you screwing around with your roommate.” I didn’t mention that I’d suspected it before. It was his responsibility to feel bad about this. I refused to share that guilt.

His head lurched back in surprise. “A girlfriend? What? No. I don’t have a girlfriend.”

Oh, god. He didn’t have a girlfriend, because he—he was… Oh, that explained everything. Why last night didn’t work, for one.

“That...that’s mine.”

“Yours?” I frowned. I was all mentally prepared for him to announce a boyfriend. It was… his? “What about the wine cooler?”

His lids closed briefly as he let out a sigh. “Guilty.”