Chapter 3 The Stranger's Bedroom

Annabella.

The kiss was… a lot.

It wasn't just a fake-out to fool the creeps. The second his lips moved against mine, a heavy, dizzying heat flooded straight down to my toes.

He tasted like mint and something sharp, like expensive cologne. His free hand, completely acting on instinct, came up to grip my waist, pulling me firmly against his chest.

I felt the solid thump of his heart against my ribs.

Behind us, the heavy scuffle of sneakers abruptly ground to a halt.

"Oh, snap," one of the guys muttered, his voice dropping from aggressive to totally awkward. "She’s with someone. Let's go."

Whispered arguments followed, their footsteps fading back down the street until the night was completely silent again.

We were safe. They were gone.

The second the realization clicked, the adrenaline that had been keeping me upright completely evaporated.

My hands slid off his jacket. I pulled my lips away, blinking heavily as the world did a violent, nauseating 360-degree spin.

"I am… so, so sorry," I breathed, my voice barely a squeak. "I just… I needed—"

The ground tilted. The streetlamp turned into a blurry streak of white light. My knees literally turned to jelly, and before I could even grasp how pathetic I looked, everything just went black.

---

Waking up was a slow, agonizing process.

First came the pounding. A rhythmic, sledgehammer thud right behind my eyes that made me groan into my pillow.

Wait. My pillow?

My pillow at home didn’t smell like high-end cedarwood and laundry detergent that cost more than my mom's weekly grocery budget. This pillow was absurdly soft. Like sleeping on a cloud wrapped in silk.

I opened one eye. Then the other.

The ceiling was massive. Dark wooden beams, recessed lighting, and walls painted a moody, expensive-looking slate gray.

I was lying in a king-sized bed that could easily fit four of me, tucked under a heavy charcoal duvet.

Panic.

Pure, icy panic jolted through my veins, obliterating the hangover fog. I sat up way too fast, making my head spin. I looked down under the covers.

Okay, thank God, still wearing the emerald-green dress. It was wrinkled and twisted, but everything was intact.

Where the hell was I? This wasn't a college dorm or some trashy high schooler's bedroom. This place looked like an architectural digest magazine.

A massive flat-screen TV hung on the wall, and across the room, a set of floor-to-ceiling glass doors led out to a balcony overlooking a ridiculous view of the city skyline.

I swallowed hard, my throat feeling like sandpaper. "Hello?" I whispered.

Nothing. Just the distant hum of central air.

I was officially in a stranger's house. A very rich stranger's house.

The memories from last night started piecing themselves together—the party, my humiliation, the chase, the dead phone, the guy by the car.

Oh, god. The kiss.

I buried my face in my hands, a hot wave of mortification washing over me. I harassed a stranger.

I kissed him without permission and then passed out on his shoes. I’m a criminal. A drunk, desperate criminal.

---

Click.

The sharp sound of a door handle turning made me freeze. My head snapped toward the far side of the room, where a frosted glass door was swinging open.

Steam poured out first, smelling of expensive body wash.

And then walked out the stranger.

I think my heart actually stopped beating for three whole seconds.

He was wearing a white towel. Just a towel.

It was hitched low on his hips, exposing a ridiculous set of abs that looked like they’d been sculpted out of marble, a sharp V-line disappearing into the terrycloth, and a broad, muscular chest still glistening with tiny drops of water.

Blonde hair hung damply across his forehead. He was drying the back of his neck with a smaller towel, completely oblivious—until he looked up and caught me staring.

His dark eyes narrowed. He stopped walking.

I wanted the bed to open up and swallow me whole. I wanted to turn into a puddle and seep through the floorboards.

I scrambled backward, pulling the duvet all the way up to my nose like a human shield.

"You're awake," he said.

His voice was deep. Low, slightly gravelly, and entirely unbothered by the fact that he was basically naked in front of a girl he’d met five minutes before she fainted.

"I—I'm so sorry!" I squeaked, my voice cracking horribly. I squeezed my eyes shut, turning my head away. "I'm looking away! I'm not looking! Please don't sue me!"

A heavy sigh echoed through the room. I heard the rustle of the towel as he moved, his bare feet padding softly across the hardwood floor.

"Relax. I'm not going to sue you," he muttered. "And you can open your eyes. I’m not indecent."

I peeked through my fingers.

He’d grabbed a dark gray t-shirt from a dresser and pulled it on, though he was still just in the towel on the bottom half. It didn't help my heart rate at all.

"Where... where am I?" I managed to ask, keeping my eyes firmly locked on his face, totally avoiding everything below his collarbone. "How did I get here?"

"My apartment," he said simply, leaning against the edge of a heavy oak desk, crossing his arms over his chest. "You threw yourself at me, used me as a human shield against three idiots, apologized, and then cratered onto the pavement. I couldn't exactly leave you face-down on the sidewalk."

"Did you... did you call an ambulance?"

"No. You were breathing fine. Just reeked of cheap sugar liquor and panic," he said, an amused, slightly cynical twist to his lips. "I checked your phone, but it was dead. Didn't know your address. So, I brought you here. Put you on the bed. That's it."

"You... you didn't..." I trailed off, flushing crimson.

He rolled his eyes, looking genuinely annoyed now. "I have boundaries, green dress. You slept. I took the couch in the living room. You're perfectly safe."

The relief was so immense I felt like crying. But the embarrassment was still a heavy weight in my chest.

"Thank you," I whispered, finally letting the duvet drop a little. "Seriously. Thank you. And I am so, so incredibly sorry. For the... you know. The kiss. I was terrified, and my phone was dead, and those guys were—"

"Following you. I saw," he interrupted, his expression softening just a fraction. "It’s fine. Quick thinking on your part, I guess. Though usually people just ask for help instead of assaulting my face."

"I wasn't thinking!" I groaned, dropping my forehead onto my knees. "It was pure instinct. I’m never drinking again. Ever."

"Good policy."

An awkward silence stretched between us. I could feel his gaze on me, calculating, curious, but I was too chicken to meet his eyes again.

I just stared at the rumpled fabric of my dress, wishing I could teleport back to my own tiny, messy bedroom.

"Look," he said, breaking the quiet. He straightened up from the desk, turning toward a large walk-in closet across the room. "There’s a bottle of water and some Advil on the nightstand. Take them. I'm going to get changed, and then I'll drive you home. You can plug your phone into my car charger so you can figure out what you're telling your parents."

He stopped at the closet door, glancing back over his shoulder at me. "Sound like a plan?"

"Yes. Yes, thank you. That’s... you're surprisingly decent for a guy who gets jumped in the dark," I mumbled.

He let out a short, dry laugh—the first real laugh I’d heard from him. It did weird things to my stomach. "Don't get used to it. Just take the meds. I’ll be out in five."

The second the bathroom door closed...

The click of the lock echoed, and the spell was instantly broken.

Drive me home? Sit in a confined car with a guy who looked like a literal supermodel while I smelled like stale alcohol, smeared makeup, and regret?

Pulling up to my mom’s house in whatever luxury vehicle he owned, having to explain exactly why this gorgeous stranger was dropping me off at eight in the morning?

No. Absolutely not. My dignity couldn't take another hit.

I threw the duvet off, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. My head throbbed in protest, but I ignored it. I spotted my heels lying neatly near the door.

I grabbed my shoes, scooped up my dead phone from the nightstand, and ran.

I tiptoed across the plush rug, slipped out into the main living room—which was just as ridiculously fancy as the bedroom—and sprinted for the front door.

I unlocked it as quietly as possible, slipped out into the carpeted hallway of the high-rise building, and didn't look back…

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