I turn away quickly, searching the room for what, I’m not even sure. What the hell have I done? I’ve never felt so overwhelmingly full of remorse. We slept together. Drunk. Harley and I had drunk sex. The thought alone causes bile to rise up the back of my throat and I swallow hard in an attempt to stop myself from bringing up last night’s tequila right here in the bed.

I slept with Harley Shaw because drunk me let her stupid feelings get in the way. Can the earth just open up and swallow me whole? It would be so much easier. I had sex with Harley and, now, I want to die. It isn’t that I regret it, per se. In fact, if the hazy memories are anything to go by, regret is the last thing I feel. But what if he regrets it? What if I see that look of regret in his eyes when he wakes and finds me naked in bed right beside him? I doubt my heart will be able to handle it. I will never be able to recover from a humiliation like that. I wish drunk me had listened to her sober thoughts last night.

Pulling my knees up, I bury my face and try to take a few calming breaths. Breathing in through my nose and out again, repeating as best as I can. But it’s hopeless. I can’t come back from this. And the worst part is I can’t even remember it because of course I had to go and consume a quarter bottle of tequila before the fact, as if that was a good idea.

I’m on the verge of a full-blown panic attack when I feel a warm hand graze against my lower back, causing me to stiffen. The mattress shifts beside me and I close my eyes so tight, unable to risk seeing him and the look of regret in his eyes. I don’t think my heart could handle that first thing this morning. But then, completely unexpectedly, the hand on my lower back trails up over my spine, smoothing circles over my skin, which warms me from the inside, and I’m forced to stifle the shiver threatening my composure. I feel lips press to the skin between my shoulder blades, lingering slightly longer than necessary. Slowly, I lift my head, staring straight ahead at nothing as his kisses continue covering my skin, his lips moving to my shoulder, to the curve of my neck, and my brows pull together in utter confusion as a swarm of butterflies is let loose in my belly to swarm rampantly.

I turn my head toward him, my senses overwhelmed by his scent as I breathe him in. Hesitating momentarily, I reach a trembling hand out, running my fingers through his hair, tilting my head sideways to give him better access to the one spot at the base of my neck that drives me absolutely wild. And suddenly, the regrets from last night are washed away as an overwrought need floods through me. I don’t care about the consequences anymore. I don’t care that this is all sorts of wrong. I don’t care that we’ll probably resent one another. All I want is him.