Was Cora’s boob in her hand?

Yes. And her naked back was pressed to Frazer’s front. Frazer’s arm was moving up and down in time to Cora’s breathing.

She was naked and in bed with Cora. After a night of—she cast her mind back and felt colour swarm her face. A night of very, very good sex.

Heat flared in her stomach at the thought even as she scrunched her face up, resisting the urge to bury it in Cora’s hair in the hopes the memory would go away.

Her stomach was heavy. She felt slightly ill. Frazer would love to blame it on a hangover, but sitting with that feeling for just a second was all it took to recognise it.

Hot, heavy shame sat there.

Cora was married. Problems or not, she had a husband.

Who was Frazer’s boss.

And now, instead of being the woman I kissed once, Frazer had become the woman I slept with once and cheated on my husband with.

Frazer had promised herself she would be her friend.

God. Worst. Friend. Ever.

Or best friend ever.

She was too hung-over to know.

This time, she let herself groan, rolling onto her back and throwing her arm over her eyes.

Cora was married.

A muffled laugh came from Cora, then a groan.

Despite the angst, Frazer snorted. “Did you just laugh at my clearly hung-over groan and then hurt your head?”

A beat of silence.

“Maybe.”

“Sucker.” Frazer kept her eyes closed under her arm. Everything was bright. Why was it all so bright?

“You groaned first.” Cora’s voice was a rasp. Frazer felt her roll over, could feel her eyes on her. “Ouch, and I can see why.”

“Hey! I may look like crap, but give me ten minutes and a coffee and I quickly become…mildly less hung-over.”

They lapsed into an incredibly awkward silence.

This was hideous. How did they move past this? They needed to enter the stage where this wasn’t hideous anymore. Where Frazer couldn’t taste shame and a hangover thick on her tongue.

While bracing herself for the light to come, Frazer lifted her arm up and saw that Cora had managed to make it onto her back, her eyes closed and a hand over her own face. Clearly Frazer wasn’t the only one. The sheet coated Cora’s curves, only barely covering the swell of her breast. This couldn’t go anywhere good.

Sitting up, the world spun savagely. Frazer clutched her head, turning to sit on the edge of the bed—Cora’s marriage bed. A crime book sat on the bedside table, as did a tie, dark blue, pooled next to the lamp. Nausea bubbled in her. This had been a terrible, terrible idea.

What she needed were clothes. Clothes and coffee and paracetamol.

And eggs. And toast. Buttery, buttery toast.

There should be a skirt and a bra and her underwear somewhere. Vaguely, she remembered coming in here with those on.

Finally, Frazer spotted them half kicked under the bed. She slid her underwear up her legs and shimmied on her skirt. Once her bra was in place, she almost felt respectable. She took a deep breath, pain thumping at her temples. This was going to be a long, disgusting day. When she turned, Frazer finally made eye contact with Cora. Her eyes were peeking out from under her hand, a little red-rimmed.