All's Fair in Love and Las Vegas

Chapter One Hundred

A splitting headache echoed in the depths of my skull when I woke up. Disoriented, I glanced around the room. Grayson was gone from his chair, but he'd left the lamp on my dresser on, casting a soft glow over the room. On the nightstand, he'd left a glass of water and a white pill. I took the notecard leaning against the glass and struggled to read it. It was Tylenol, and he was downstairs.

Gulping down the medicine, I clutched my head. Oh my gosh. I'd been so drunk. Not as drunk as my last episode–I at least remembered the past...how much time had passed? Glancing at the clock, I found out it was ten at night. Not to mention there were pockets I didn't remember. A new wave of horror hit me as I realized I'd been hitting on Grayson. What had I said to him? Probably something wildly inappropriate.

Shuddering, I sat up, sliding on my slippers. I pulled on my long cardigan from the back of the chair, cold. My head was now a flaming battlefield of pain, screaming at the Tylenol to start working. I shook the feeling away and shuffled across the rug.

As soon as I opened the bedroom door, the wafting smell of good food hit my nose. What good food it was, I wasn't sure, but it made me feel better. Slowly, I made my way down the staircase. I wasn't drunk anymore, but stairs were still a threat thanks to my headache.

Grayson was in the kitchen, his back to me as he worked at the stove. He didn't notice I was there. I cringed at my own voice as I croaked out, "Hi."

He whirled around, his eyes wide. But he smiled when he saw me, saying, "Hi. Are you feeling better?"

"Sort of. I'm sober, promise, but my head is a mess," I groaned, sitting down at the counter.

"Sorry," he said sympathetically. "Want some food? I'm making omelets."

"In the middle of the night?" I asked, smiling faintly.

"Omelets are always good," he countered, returning to his pan.

He was not wrong. "I'll take one, thanks," I said gratefully.

A couple minutes later, Grayson placed a plate in front of me, sitting down with his own meal next to me. He let me eat, which really meant he let me devour the entire omelet and I almost ate the plate with it.

"Want another?" he asked, taking my plate.

Embarrassed, I winced. "No, thank you. I appreciate it though."

Grayson raised an eyebrow. "You're sure? There's extra. And I'm guessing you're kind of starving," he said, once again knowing me too well.

"I'm really okay, but thanks." Perhaps eating would feel better later.

He nodded and put the plates in the dishwasher. I tucked my hands into the sleeves of my cardigan, hugging myself. Grayson flipped on the dishwasher and came back over to where I was sitting.

"I think you and I need to talk," he said softly. "Want to sit on the couch?"

I nodded silently and followed him into the living room, where he'd turned on the lamps. I curled up on one end of the couch while Grayson sat next to me. I'd never felt so ashamed in my life, but I still had to meet his gaze.

"I'm sorry for how I acted earlier," I said. "I don't remember all of it, to be honest, but I remember enough. Me being drunk is no excuse for me to treat you that way."

"Thank you. I appreciate it. But I did come here because Kylie told me you weren't doing so well," he said sincerely.

I cringed, remembering my previous conversation with my best friend. "What did she tell you?"