More Than Lies (More Than #1)(43)

Then another realization dawns on me. Shawn is in my bed. Shawn is wrapped around me. And in the position I’m lying, partially on my side, but mostly leaning over onto my stomach, Shawn’s hand is cupping a whole lot of belly bulge; my belly bulge, as in my fat.

I’m not saying I’m fat or anything, but at five-foot eight and weighing one hundred and fifty pounds, I could certainly stand to lose ten or fifteen pounds.

Suck it in, Taralynn, I tell myself. Suck as much in as possible.

“Relax is not a cue for going stiff and sucking in your gut.”

Life hates me. That has to be it, because it certainly isn’t working in my favor.

Freakin’ hell.

I release the air I’ve been holding and then relax into the mattress and into his hold on me. I have to say it feels nice. Even with the thumping inside my brain, I could get used to this easily.

Why the heck is Shawn in my bed?

Why does my body hurt all over? Possibly even more than my head does.

“Why do I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck and then beat up on top of that?” Did I get into a fight last night? Surely not. Me . . . fighting? That is laughable. I mean, I think I could hold my own. I don’t think I’m physically weak, but I’ve never been in a fight in my life.

Shawn starts to scoot away from me, but pulls me with him. He falls onto his back with his head resting on one of my pillows. I roll to my other side so that I’m facing him. When I do, what I see is a shock.

Dear mother of God, Shawn looks like he was hit with a mac truck.

“Hell, Shawn, you look like I feel. What happened?”

“What do you remember from last night?” He’s scanning my face.

My eyes instantly go to his lips when I remember the feel of them on me. My mouth goes dry at the thought, and I have to jut out my tongue to moisturize them.

“After leaving the bar. When you got home.” Well, that tells me he knows exactly where my mind went. I don’t know why, but when it comes to him I can’t shut off my facial expressions. I’m good at it with everyone else, but never him.

I think, trying to access my memory when the image of a face from last night enters my brain. My eyes go back to Shawn’s silently asking him to say something, anything because right now I know the button to my blue jeans are undone and the zip pulled down. My pants are much lower than I’d wear. Even with my tattoo healing I didn’t have them this low.

Oh, my God.

What happened?

What did I do?

That guy.

No.

No way!

I’m on the verge of tears when Shawn’s hand cups the side of my face. “Nothing happened, I promise you that, Tara. I didn’t let him touch you beyond your arm.” His words should bring relief, but then why are my pants not fastened.

“Then why are my jeans down, and why does my body feel wrecked?” I like a little rough sex, but never once have I woken up feeling this bad. This is beyond bad, and I don’t know how to describe it. I’m not one for sleeping with strangers either. Casual sex is one thing, but it was always with Jared, and I’ve known him forever.

“Calm down.”

“Easy for you to say, you aren’t about to have a heart attack.”

“Didn’t you hear me? I didn’t let that motherfucker do what he had planned. I pulled your pants down so the tattoo could breathe.” Shawn’s palm runs behind my head. His eyes close and his forehead lowers onto my throbbing one. “He drugged you.”

Holy crap balls.

This is bad, so bad; my parents are going to murder me.

“I don’t remember anything. I mean, I do, but everything is hazy. I remember Matt being a douche, some guy that I couldn’t lose, and then your face and nothing. Everything else is blank. How did this happen, Shawn? I’m not that stupid, am I?” Apparently I am. I don’t need him to confirm that.

“No, Tara, you’re not. You didn’t do anything wrong. He put something into your drink somehow. You were at home. You should have been safe, and I let this happen to you. I’m sorry.” Why is he sorry? This makes no sense. He can’t control what happens. He wasn’t even home when I got home last night so there was nothing he let happen.

Shawn releases me as he falls onto his back.

I rise up, placing my left hand onto his stomach when I do. I’m about to tell him he isn’t at fault when I see the cotton with clear medical tape covering the crease in my arm where my elbow bends. That’s a sure sign that there was recently a needle in my arm.

Panic sets in.

Oh please tell me I wasn’t taken to a hospital. I really am dead.

I guess Shawn interpreted my facial expression for what it was. “My mom gave you something to prevent dehydration.” My eyes go to his.

“Pam? Not a hospital?” I question and he nods. I relax on the thought that this is messed up. My first reaction to being drugged shouldn’t be how my parents are going to react.

“My parents are here. I’m sure my mom is working on dinner now.”

“Dinner?” I ask. Sure, Pam loves to cook, but rarely does she start on a big meal before early afternoon.

“You were out for over twelve hours. Are you hungry? Do you need anything?”

Holy cow. That’s a long darn time.

What do I need? For a start, new parents, that’s what I need.