“Good morning, sleeping beauty.” Chase appeared in the doorway and leaned against the frame, clutching a black mug in his hands. He was freshly showered and wearing fitted gray joggers and a white V-neck T-shirt, with his dark hair still damp. And damn, did he look hot—like an athletic wear model or something equally appealing.

I didn’t want to know what I looked like. I knew it wasn’t good. Or appealing.

He nodded at my shirt. “Red suits you.”

I pulled myself upright, yanking the covers up to my chin. I was in a T-shirt and underwear. His T-shirt wasn’t that long on me, either. No pants. Not even shorts. Did that mean we had sex? Oh, no. No, no, no.

Nausea roiled through me, and not from the hangover.

“Did we…?” I asked, too embarrassed to finish my sentence. He shook his head. “No.”

I eyed him warily, hyperaware of my bare bottom half beneath the blanket. Did he sleep next to me under the covers last night? Did his butt graze my butt? Did I snore? Oh my god.

“I don’t take advantage of drunk girls.” Chase pushed off from the doorframe and took a few long strides over to stand at the foot of the bed.

My breath stilled, heart accelerating. Somehow, I felt extra-undressed with him so close to me.

“Though in this case,” he added, “I think it was you who tried to take advantage of me, James.”

“You know my last name?”

“Of course,” he said. “You tried to get in my pants.”

“I did what?” I frowned, mentally replaying last night’s events. The beginning of the evening was fairly clear, but then it got increasingly blurry. Either way, I didn’t do that. “No, you’re the one who was hitting on me with all your lame airport innuendos.”

“That was before you got blackout drunk. You came back later and found me. Cockblocked me in the process, I might add.” He raised a brow pointedly. “Then you wanted to go home, but it wasn’t safe to let you leave alone in the state you were in, so I brought you back here. Nothing happened.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Are you sure?”

“We didn’t have sex. We didn’t even kiss.”

“Thanks…I guess.” I grumbled. Chase Carter, perfect gentleman? Who knew?

“Oh, don’t thank me.” His lips quirked. “You made for fascinating conversation on the walk home.”

My stomach leapt into my throat. “What did I say?” I didn’t drink often, and for good reason. When I was under the influence, I tended to blab to anyone who would listen. My life story, my innermost secrets, it was all up for grabs. It didn’t take much to get to that point, either, because I was a total lightweight.