Waking up in the middle of the night and—oh my God.
Oh God.
Oh God, what had I done?
I flushed hot and then cold, and immediately I knew I needed to move. Carefully, with more grace than I knew I had, I slipped out of his loose embrace, sprang from the couch like I was made of coils, and then darted down the hall. I reached the hallway bathroom and flew inside it, closing the door behind me. I backed up until I hit the low rim of the tub and then I sat down.
Oh my God.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I let out a pitiful moan. I’d dry humped Brock’s leg. I totally did that—I dry humped his leg in the middle of the night, half-drunk and half-asleep.
And I’d done more than that. He’d done more than that. Glancing down at myself, I saw that my pants were still unbuttoned, unzipped. The hot-pink cotton panties peeking through.
Oh no, no, no.
I could still feel his finger inside me, pumping and sliding. I could hear my own breathy cries. Jumping up, I quickly buttoned up my pants and then turned, stopping halfway between the toilet and door.
“Holy shit,” I gasped. “Holy shit.”
I was never drinking again.
Ever.
Like fucking for real, I could not be trusted with alcohol.
“Okay,” I whispered to myself. “Okay. Focus, Jillian.”
He was still out there. I was going to have to face him. I had no idea how, because I had no idea how to look someone in the eye after practically molesting them while they slept.
I mean, when he woke up he seemed to be a willing partner, but still, this was going to be awkward, so awkward.
Turning on the faucet, I cupped the water and splashed it over my face. When I lifted my head, my face was still hot. What was I going to do? I slicked my hair back with wet hands, fighting the urge to sit down and have a really good cry.
Heavy footsteps sounded out in the hall, and I pushed away from the sink, quickly locking the door. Then I stared at it, holding my breath.
“Jillian?” Brock’s voice was rough with sleep, and I turned my head so my left ear was to the door. “Are you in there?”
Clasping my hands together, I mulled over what to do.
“I hope so,” he continued. “Because your cat is staring at me like he wants to be fed, and I feel like if I feed your cat, I’m crossing some kind of line,” he added with a laugh.
That was crossing a line? Pretty sure riding his leg and then his hand in a drunken stupor was crossing a line.
“Jilly,” he called again.
I had to answer. “I’m . . . I’m in here.”
There was a stretch of silence. “Are you okay?”
No. No I was not. “Sure.”
“Do you need anything?”
“No.” Then hope sprung alive, because maybe, just maybe, I could get him to leave. “I’ll be fine. You can go ahead and leave.”
“What?”
Sliding my hands over my hair, I tugged on the ends. “Thank you for driving me home last night and making sure I got in okay. I really appreciate it. I’ll—I’ll see you on Monday.”
There was another patch of silence, and I strained to hear what he was doing out in the hall. I thought I heard Rhage meow pitifully somewhere.
“Jillian,” he said my name, and this time there was no lightness or teasing to his tone. “Come out here.”
I scrunched up my nose. “No, thanks.”
“Jillian.”
“Seriously, I’ll see you on Monday—”
“You are not going to hide in the damn bathroom,” he cut in. “You’re going to open this door and come out here and talk to me.”
Yeah, that was not going to happen, and when I didn’t respond, I saw the knob turn.
Brock cursed. “Jillian, come on.”
Nope.
“Okay,” he said. “If you don’t want to come out, then we can talk through the door. I’m not stupid. I know why you’re hiding in the bathroom.”
My eyes narrowed at the closed door.
“There’s no reason to be embarrassed over what happened last night,” he started and I lost it.
“Really? I think there’s plenty of reasons to be embarrassed,” I said, dropping my hands. “I got drunk and I—”
“Used me to get off?” he supplied.
“Oh my God, seriously? Thanks for putting it bluntly.”
“I didn’t mind.”
My mouth dropped open and I just stared forward. I had no words. None. Zip. Nada. Then I shook my head. “How could you not mind? I practically molested you.”
Brock’s deep laugh made its way into the bathroom. “First off, if I didn’t want you doing any of that last night, I would’ve stopped you. I wouldn’t have made you come.”
I slapped my hands on my hips and nearly doubled over. Made you come. Oh God, he had so done that. I couldn’t deal with this. My head was still clouded from the devil’s nectar known as whiskey and wine, and I needed coffee, and I needed him gone.
“Okay,” I said after a moment. “Can we just pretend like that didn’t happen last night?”
“Are you serious?” he asked, and shock colored his tone.
“Yes. I am serious. I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to acknowledge it,” I said in a rush. “And I want to go on like that never happened. We can do that. It’s better that way. So you don’t have to be okay with it or worry that it’ll happen again or that I think anything stupid.” I drew in a ragged breath. “Things will be normal.”
“Open the door,” Brock said calmly, way too calmly.