Dear God.
Her temples pounded as she reached up and tugged on the blanket that was covering her head. She welcomed the cool air on her face once she was out from under the heavy duvet, but then she saw her own terrifying reflection in the mirror directly in front of her.
Mirror?
Wait. What?
It was then that she realized not only was she lying sideways across the bed, but she was at the foot of the bed. And that it was not “the” bed, as in a bed familiar to her, but “a” bed, as in one she didn’t know.
Oh, Gawd.
No, no, no, no.
Scenes from the night before came flying at her, and she tried her best not to move the mattress as she sat up and peered over her shoulder. There was a sea of white bedding between them, sheets and comforters that were twisted and resting in haphazard piles, but yes—there was definitely a body sleeping at the top of the bed.
His head, which appeared to be facedown on the pillow, was covered in thick, dark hair that she knew firsthand felt surprisingly soft when you grabbed it by the handful. Visions of the two of them up against the door of the hotel room flashed through her mind, her hands buried in his hair while he—
GAH.
Nope.
She had to get out of there. She saw her pants and one of her shoes next to the door. Her other shoe lay in the bathroom doorway as if kicked off . . . oh, yeah, she remembered kicking it off and sliding out of her pants before the door was even closed behind them.
Idiot, idiot, idiot.
She moved gingerly, because the last thing she wanted was to wake the guy. Really, how awkward would that be? Hi, remember me? I’m the bartender who ripped all the buttons off your tuxedo shirt. No, Hallie needed to stealthily get dressed and get the hell out.
She rolled off the end of the bed, landing on her hands and knees. She forced herself not to think of how dirty the hotel carpet was—bodily fluids everywhere and the black light thing arrrgghhhh—and she popped her head up to make sure he was still sleeping.
Yep. Still asleep, or possibly dead, so that was good.
She dropped back down and crawled toward her pants. She imagined she made quite a picture, high-speed crawling in a tank top and a pair of pink underwear that had tiny squirrels plastered all over them. She was pretty sure this was a low point, but she didn’t have time to slow down and find decorum.
When she reached her pants, she jumped into them as fast as she could, pulling them up as quietly as possible while staring at the bed. Please keep sleeping. She jammed her feet into her flats as she looked around the room for her bra.
Where in the hell was that underwired nightmare?
She checked the bathroom, then leaned down and checked under the bed, but that thing was nowhere to be found. She tiptoed closer to the bed. It was probably tangled in the bedding, but at that moment Jack made a noise and flipped over onto his back, which made her drop down to her knees again.
Why, you dipshit? screamed her brain in a very high-pitched and hysterical voice. What is the point of that? You’re not invisible if you’re crawling, you tool.
Hallie got back to her feet and realized that any other time, she’d be stopping to gaze upon the man’s body. His broad chest, tight stomach, and ropy biceps were downright lovely, and she kind of maybe thought she might’ve bitten his forearm last night, but she was too focused on escape to enjoy the view.
She squinted and tried to see her bra amongst the sheets, but Jack seemed to be breathing a little louder, so she couldn’t risk it. She said, “Fuck it,” and gave up, grabbed her purse, and left, letting out her breath when the door finally shut softly behind her. She could feel her bralessness as she jogged down the corridor, and she crossed her arms when she had to stop and wait for the elevator. There were girls who looked good doing the whole braless-in-a-tank-top vibe—Kate Hudson, perhaps—but Hallie was not one of them.
She looked obscene.
A housekeeper walked by with her cart, and Hallie wished she hadn’t seen her reflection in that hotel room mirror, because she knew just how awful she looked. As she waited for the elevator, she wondered if Jack would be mad that she left without saying goodbye. Like, what was the etiquette in that situation? She’d never been a one-nighter kind of girl, so she didn’t know what sort of niceties were usually exchanged before parting. Maybe I’ll creep on social media and DM him. “Thanks for the brilliant bonk, bro—”
But before she could even finish that thought, it hit her.
She didn’t know his last name.
The elevator doors opened, and she was in the grips of a tiny freak-out as she went into the shiny car and hit the lobby button.