Mess To Be Made

1

There's nothing more difficult in this world than trying to open mascara-glued eyelashes after a night of drinking. I had to reach my hand out of the warm covers I was underneath in order to peel some of the sticky black paint off.

Finally prying them open with what little strength my face muscles had at the moment, a blurry gray wall with posters of Peyton Manning and Tom Brady slowly came into focus. Despite my eyes still tender from being sewn shut all night, they snapped open at the images before me.

It was a view I had seen far too many times after a night of way too much alcohol—and the start of a day that would be full of regretful flashbacks.

Fuck.

Sure enough, I was naked and sure enough, my body was hidden underneath a blue quilt.

A blue quilt I recently told myself I would not be under again.

I couldn't turn from my side onto my back because just behind me I heard the snoring boy invading my personal space. His forearm rested in the crevasse between my ribs and my hip and his fingers gently brushed up against my bare stomach.

I didn't like cuddling. I didn't particularly care for any type of emotionally intimate touching for that matter. I always had the urge to go home after we had finished, yet time and time again I was convinced to stay because I was usually far too drunk to find a way home safe.

Well, if we're being honest, I was typically just too tired. And Spencer's bed was very comfy.

Ever so slightly I maneuvered my body closer and closer to the edge of the bed and began to tip forward. All that was touching me now was his palm. I took a deep breath, readying myself to make my first big move by placing my feet on the floor.

I should've known better than to take such a large, loud breath. Spencer Ross was a ridiculously light sleeper, which made escaping all the more difficult.

I heard him inhale behind me, his body coming back to life. His palm shifted against my skin and I knew that he was awake.

Fuck.

I gave in to the fact that my plan was now compromised. Unfortunately for me, my body had still been tipping forward and after losing my focus, gravity won.

His bed wasn't that high up, so it wasn't a long fall to the ground. It sure as hell felt like it though. The impact made my already throbbing head feel like I had been whiplashed. I snapped my eyes shut. Maybe I could pretend I was still sleeping?

"Oh shit," I heard his deep, rough voice.

It made me genuinely angry how hot his voice was. That voice could get me to do just about anything when I was drunk. Even sober it was sometimes hard to resist.

I heard the mattress shift and felt a pair of eyes on the side of my head. "You okay?"

Fuck.

Game over. Sadly, I opened my eyes and looked up at him. His overwhelmingly defined, chiseled face stuck out in the morning light. Why was he such a light sleeper?

I forced my hands to support me as got into a sitting position, pulling knees to my chest to cover myself up a little. Running a hand through my blonde hair, catching quite a few rats nests along the way, I groaned out a, "Yeah."

Spencer laughed—which was also hot as hell, for the record—and I gave him an annoyed glare.

Still on the ground, I reached towards the end of his bed where my clothes laid in a disheveled pile. I could feel Spencer watching me, but he didn't say a word until my bra was completely snapped back on.