When I woke up—head aching, mouth dry—I had no idea where I was at first. I was in a strange, dark room. There was the soft, muffled sound of talking on the other side of the door. It sounded almost familiar. Somehow, I hoisted myself upright, and found my way out. It wasn’t until I got to the living room that I remembered what had happened.

It helped that Gabe was sitting on the couch watching TV. He filled me in on some of the more unfamiliar details—like the fact that I’d uncovered a natural talent for Running Pyramid and was also a very sore loser. Apparently, I had ended up in the dog bed because I hadn’t liked how the other team kept winning. I had been convinced they were cheating.

Gabe helped soothe my embarrassment by offering me popcorn. He has his own little machine that he set up on the counter of his kitchen. That way he can give the puppy some before he puts his own toppings on it.

His toppings of choice? Cinnamon and sugar.

The TV show he paired with it? Star Trek: The Next Generation.

That’s right, my dears, Gabe Parker is a Trekkie.

I’m a Trekkie as well, but let’s face it, that’s not surprising at all.

Gabe’s favorite character? Worf. Mine? Data. I’m certain a therapist could go to town with those revelations, but all Gabe and I did with it was watch several episodes of our favorite show before we went to bed.

Gabe in his room. Me in the guest room.

Then

Chapter 19

Chapter
19

MY HEAD AND MOUTH FELT as though I’d been dragged hair-first through a sandstorm, and considering I couldn’t remember how I had gotten home last night, it wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibility.

At least I’d managed to take off my shoes and dress before falling into bed, though I apparently hadn’t taken anything else off. By touch alone, I discovered I was still wearing my bra and it still had a safety pin in it. The fact that it was closed seemed to be due more to dumb luck than any forethought on my end.

I kept hearing a rattling, buzzing noise, but it wasn’t consistent. It would buzz once, stop, buzz twice, stop, and then buzz again.

It took me a good five minutes to realize that it was my phone shimmying across my bedside table.

Someone was texting me.

It felt like a personal affront, especially considering I couldn’t peel my eyelids open far enough to read whatever was on the screen. Every time I tried, the bright light from the bedroom window made me recoil like a vampire. I might have even hissed during my first attempt.