Protect My Heart

four

[ 04 ]

I had a vicious hangover when I woke up that morning and cursed my mother to hell and back for giving birth to me. I stretched my body as inhumane noises escaped my lips.

Sunlight was streaming in through the curtains, lighting up the room softly. It would've looked beautiful in the morning glow, except the room was a pigsty and it reeked of stale alcohol.

Wait... Curtains? I didn't have curtains.

My body shot up in shock. I glanced down at the bed. Purple silk bedsheets. I hated purple.

Suddenly, a snore reverberated through the room. I squeezed my eyes shut. Fuck, what happened last night?

Bracing myself, I slowly turned my head to look at who was beside me. Please don't let him be married. Or a balding 40-year-old man with tattoos.

My taste when I was drunk was highly questionable. The vodka didn't help, and neither did the lighting in the club.

When I finally had the courage to open my eyes. I found myself pleasantly surprised. He was one of the better ones.

I mean, no one could possibly look good after drinking the night before, but he wasn't the worst. Soft blonde hair covered his face but at least there were no visible tattoos. I thanked the Lord for that.

Slipping out from under the covers, I started the search for my clothes. The room was in a mess. Clothes were strewn all over the ground and there were food wrappers everywhere.

On the table, there was a half-eaten taco. My hand slapped over my mouth as I tried not to gag.

If I ignored the mess, however, the room was actually pretty sweet. There was a 40-inch television and a solid sound system. Paintings were also hung around the room, and these paintings looked like the kind that people sold at auctions at ridiculously high prices.

A random swab of blue paint? That'd be $49,999.99.

Shaking my head, I started to dress myself, already dreading the oh-so-wonderful walk of shame.

Slipping on my heels, I grabbed my things and walked towards the door, but not before I gave one last look to the man in the bed.

Somewhere along the way, he'd turned and his hair was now off his face. My eyes widened as I took him in. Wow. I was impressed with myself. How did I land myself such a guy when I was drunk?

Clearly, drunk-me had standards.

Long eyelashes covered his eyes and his eyebrows looked taken care of. Smooth tanned skin glowed - fucking glowed - in the sunlight. I could make out the shape of his cheekbones and the sharpness of his jaw.