One

A small ray of sunlight peeked through the window shade and woke me up. I panicked slightly when I realized I wasn’t on the side of the bed I normally slept on. Weird.

It took me another moment to realize I wasn’t in my bed at all. Another round of panic overtook me until I remembered the wedding. Hannah and Brandon’s wedding was last night and I was one of the bridesmaids. I was staying at a hotel with the rest of the wedding party. I let out a small sigh of relief.

The sun seemed to be barely coming up so I could probably go back to sleep for a while. I could enjoy a few hours of solitude until I had to go back to my freaky roommate and her evil cat. Ugh! I hated that damn cat.

Then I felt an arm swing over my shoulder.

Shit. I wasn’t alone. Was I even in my room?

I racked my brain trying to remember any details of how I got back to the room I was in and who could possibly be in the bed beside me.

Nothing.

My mind was blank. I had little recollection of the previous night’s events thanks to a few too many tequila shots, no doubt. Or was it Lemoncello? Barf. The thought of Lemoncello made my stomach churn.  I felt like I might spew.

It was definitely too much Lemoncello.

“Good morning, Beautiful,” murmured a male voice in the bed beside me. Unfortunately, it didn’t sound the least bit familiar.

Was I in his room or had I taken him back to mine? Knowing me, I had suggested we go back to his room so I could make a quick escape in the morning.

I couldn’t remember who I was with or how we ended up in bed together. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first time I couldn’t remember how I had gotten into some random guy’s bed. I’ve had many slutty moments in the past but few of them were this slutty. Hooking up with someone at a wedding was an all-time low. And not just any wedding—one of my best friend’s weddings. Oh, God…had I become a wedding slut?

I could feel whoever it was easing toward me in the bed and my heart start racing. Panic was setting in again. I needed to escape. All of my past slut-scapades had ended with me sneaking out of bed, quietly gathering my things and bolting before any embarrassing morning-after crap had a chance to materialize.

Now it was too late to escape unnoticed. He was awake (whoever he was) and I was going to be forced to face him. And I didn’t remember a thing.

I could feel my stomach churning again and I realized my head was also throbbing.

Great. I had to deal with a hangover, too.   

I jumped up from the bed pulling the sheet along with me and ran into the bathroom. I just made it to the toilet when the contents of my stomach decided to make a reappearance.

It was definitely Lemoncello. I wouldn’t be drinking that again for a while. A long while. It tasted absolutely God-awful on its way back up.

I laid my head on the cool side of the toilet and let out a sigh.

I tried to remember anything I could about the previous night. Why did I have an image of a clown so prominently in my mind? What did it mean?

There was a soft knock on the bathroom door. “Are you okay?” the male voice said. There was a tenderness to his voice that surprised me.

“No,” I replied more curtly than I wanted to. Sarcastic and curt remarks often popped out of my mouth before I had a chance to stop them. It was one of my many flaws. I kept a running list. I had been keeping ANNA’S FLAW LIST since I was 12 years old. It started with all of the flaws my mom and dad liked to remind me of and built from there. Most of the flaws came from guys I dated and were used as excuses to break things off. Or maybe they were right and I was just a fucked-up chick (Flaw 15), who didn’t deserve to be loved. 

“Can I come in?” the male voice asked.

I hadn’t even bothered to glance at myself in the mirror as I hurried by on my way to the toilet. When I tried to sit up, I felt like I had just gotten off one of those Tilt-A-Whirl rides at an amusement park. I felt like I was going to hurl again but I was pretty sure there wasn’t anything left in my stomach.

“No,” I managed to mutter right before I dry heaved into the toilet.

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Genre – Contemporary Romance

Rating – R

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