Snafu

Morning After - Part 1

Cole woke in the most comfortable bed he had ever known. But he could not luxuriate in it because his head pounded like somebody was playing a bass too loud inside his skull. He never got this hungover because he never drank as much as he had last night. And he decided then and there that he never would again.

Then, he remembered the reason for his drunkenness. He married a client last night. A jolt of shock and panic rippled through him, making his body tense, his head hurt worse, and a groan spill out of his lips. It felt like his skull was about to snap off his spine, even though it rested securely on the pillows. He rolled around as the memories from the night before washed over him.

His miserable squirming rolled him right off the bed in a flail of limbs and blankets. He landed on his hip with a thud, and it hurt his head so bad he could cry. Instead, he braved the pain and the reality of the situation to open his eyes and look at where he had ended up.

He was on a rug that lay over a large expanse of gleaming hardwood. To his side was the bed from which he tumbled. Beneath it were a few storage tubs tucked away in neat rows. There was a bedside table with a lamp behind him and an armchair and dresser on the other side of the room. A few doors punctuated the cream-colored walls, likely leading to a closet, a bathroom, and the exit. He blinked blearily at them, then chose one at random, hoping it was the bathroom because he had to pee.

It was a task to untangle his legs from the covers, which ended up strewn halfway across the room in a trail as he struggled toward his chosen door. It was not the bathroom. It was an empty closet, the walk-in kind with custom shelves and clothing racks. He opened a drawer and found it to be as empty as the racks. Yet there was not a speck of dust when he dragged a finger across one of the shelves. Across from the door hung a mirror outlined in vanity lights that jabbed Cole's eyeballs. He flicked the light off and backed away.

The next door he tried was the bathroom, about twice the size of the closet, with a sleek, white, modern design. Cole slammed the door shut, locked it, and then hurried over to the toilet. He washed his hands and dried them off on a towel that was hanging from the ring in some fancy folded formation like the ones in hotel rooms. Maybe he was in a hotel room? It didn't seem like one, though.

He opened the drawers in the bathroom and found that they were just as desolate as the ones in the closet. It was obviously somewhere that Gideon had put him, so maybe an empty apartment? There was one more door leading out of the bedroom to check, but Cole needed a minute to lean against the counter, put his pounding head in his hands, and process.

Logan was going to kill him for getting into this mess. Then he remembered that Logan was the one to get him into the mess. So, he cursed Logan silently within the throbbing ache of his skull. He wished a headache upon Logan that was a thousand times worse than this one. At least he did not have to go back to the club, but Logan had been the devil he knew, and the unknown of this new situation frightened him.

He went through the events of last night one by one in his head and thought that his only saving grace was the fact that they were not legally married yet. Maybe he could still get out of this. Nobody in their right mind would hold him to bogus vows exchanged at gunpoint. It had practically been the stroke of midnight, which should have counted for something. Things that happened around midnight were not real, right?

Gideon seemed opposed to the whole thing. But last night's events were a rude reminder that, even though he had enjoyed those nights with the man, he was essentially a stranger. Gideon liked him well enough as a bedmate, enough to pay over 10k to get him for a few hours, which was already psychotic behavior, so maybe he would like to keep Cole at home in his bed the way James seemed to think he would.