Velvet

Oh dear God.

“How do you feel?” Adrian tried again, starting to look concerned.

Stupid.

“Fine,” I mumbled, my voice hoarse and froggy as I disentangled my limbs from his until we could both sit up.

“We need to get you back to Trish’s,” he said, scooting away, dragging his legs over the edge of the bed, walking to his desk, and …

… taking off his clothes?

I watched, absolutely fascinated, as he tossed the pirate shirt onto the back of his chair and pulled on a black sweater that clung to his body like Saran Wrap. He swiped a hand through his hair and scanned the floor, looking for something.

Maybe I was still dreaming.

I wanted to ask what time it was, why I was here, why I needed to go back to Trish’s, why, why, why, what, where, when, how? but my tongue was all sloppy and I couldn’t form any coherent thoughts.

He looked for something in a drawer, found whatever it was, and took off his pirate pants.

Ohmygodhetookoffhispiratepants.

He was dressed in nothing but a sweater and tight, black boxer briefs. Even in the dim moonlight, I could see that Adrian wasn’t just in shape; he was built. Decathlete built. FIFA World Cup soccer champion built. Not bulky, really, but solid. Just muscles for days, lean and beautifully arranged. I was staring, and I didn’t care.

I must be dreaming. Not only had I been mostly naked in Adrian de la Mara’s room, Adrian had been mostly naked in Adrian’s room. I mean, that made sense, since it was his room, but I was there, and what the hell was happening?

“I don’t have any boots your size,” he said, turning to face me once more, “but I stole these from my aunt. They’re probably a couple sizes too big, but it’s all I have.”

He held up a pair of sandals, but I wasn’t really looking at them, not when the image of his mostly naked body was burned into my retinas like a film negative.

“You’re not really awake yet, are you?” he asked.

I blinked at him.

He stared at me and said, “Hmm,” in a low, rumbly sort of way.

I blinked again, pinching my eyes shut and then opening them wide. The room came in to a bit clearer focus. Slowly, I sat up; the wide neck of his sweater slipping off my shoulder again.

“Adrian,” I said, overpronouncing his name.

“Yes?”

“Your house.”

“Yes.”

“Your room.”

“Yes.”

I looked down at myself. I was practically swimming in the clothes I wore.

“Your pajamas?”

He smiled. “Yes.”

“Time?”

“Four thirty.”

“A.M.?”

“Yes.”

I touched a hand to my head. “Jungle Juice?”

Adrian tried to suppress another smile. “Yes.”

“Ah,” I said, as if that one word summed up everything that had happened over the past five hours. A moment passed as we stared at each other. “I don’t really know what to say right now.”

“How about I go grab you something to eat while you think about it?”

“Okay,” I agreed.

He left and I was grateful I had a moment to pull myself together.

How stupid did I feel? You got drunk, I told myself. You got drunk and Adrian had to drag you all the way to his house so you wouldn’t embarrass yourself. And then you cuddled with him.

I scrambled out of bed, which was a bad idea because dizziness and gravity conspired against me, so I lay still until the world stopped spinning. I’d just managed to sit up again when Adrian opened the door.

“I’m not sure what your stomach can handle, so I made you a slice of cinnamon bread. Does that sound okay?”

He’d taken me home and put me to bed and made me toast. Thank God it was dark, I felt like I was blushing red and pasty white all at the same time. He handed me the plate and I took a bite. It was good. Lots of butter.

We stared at each other while I ate. When I was finished, he set my plate down on his desk and picked up a coat, slinging it over my shoulders and messing with the collar until it lay right.

“There,” he said. “Why don’t you call Trish and tell her we’re coming?”

I nodded and looked around. “Uh—do you happen to know where my stuff is?”

I remembered taking off my clothes. I remembered putting on Adrian’s pajamas. I did not remember what happened in-between.

“I think everything’s on the floor over there.” He pointed near the set of French doors leading out to the moonlit balcony. We both noticed at the exact same moment that I’d managed to fling my bra onto his lampshade. He quickly looked away as I slowly lowered my face into my hands.

“I’ll, um—I’ll wait outside.”

Adrian slipped out the door once more and I quickly skimmed my bra off the lamp and tugged it on under his sweater, then found the rest of my clothes in a heap on the floor and dug through the pile to look for my phone. I flipped through my contacts and found Trish’s. She answered on the fourth ring.

“Hey!” she said, yelling. I could hear music in the background.

“Hey. Are you still at the party?”

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