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forward onto my hands and knees, to search under the covers, sliding all the way to the foot of the bed. Relief floods me when my fingers close around my skirt, balled between the mattress and the footboard.  
    It's nice beneath the sheets. Dark, and comfortable. Maybe I'll just hide here for the rest of my life. Except I really, really need to find a toothbrush. My breath is ricocheting around my face, trapped with me under the covers and…just…gross. I wiggle backwards out of the covers, holding my breath until my ass hits the headboard, and I shove the sheets off my head, exhaling so hard I fear I may throw up. I close my eyes and rest my forehead on the sheets between my hands, breathing deeply again.  
    "You do seem to love that position."
    My eyes fly open, and I freeze, mortification pinpricking every inch of my skin.
    Gage.  
    Standing in front of me.  
    While I'm on my hands and knees wearing nothing but underwear.
    Fuck my life. Seriously.
    I push back onto my heels, clutching the sheets to my chest. My brain bounces back and forth in my head from the sudden movement and a small moan of pain escapes from my mouth. "I didn't hear…I mean, I'm not…"  
    What is it with my inability to finish sentences with this guy?  
    "Thought you might want some coffee." He has a mug in his hand, but I look right past it, at his chest. It's bare and toned, and I know exactly how it feels pressed against my skin. His pants are unbuttoned at the top and hanging low at his waist showing the slightest hint of happy trail, pointing like an arrow down beneath the line of his boxer briefs.  
    "Oh, God." Broken bits of memories slam against my conscious, weaving me from one scene to the next as though connected by pieces of twisted, fraying string.  
    His tongue against my skin. His mouth on my neck. His fingers trailing. Every. Single. Inch of me…
    Nope. Not going there. Not finishing this line of thought. Get it together, Cassidy .
    "A toothbrush would be even better." I cover my mouth while I speak.  
    He pulls one, still packaged, out of his back pocket. "We thought you might want one of those, too."
    He walks around the bed toward me, feet padding softly on the carpet, and holds it out. I take it—and manage to rein in my sigh of gratitude before it leaves my mouth and strikes him dead. But… "We?"
    "Vera and I."
    "Vera's here?"  
    He smiles the little half smile that pulled me into this mess in the first place. "This is her place."
    Relief trickles through me. That explains the necklaces. "Are you roommates?"
    He shakes his head. "Actually, this is her room."  
    That really explains the necklaces. I bury my face in my hands. It's bad enough I invited myself to Vera's house, now that I remember that part, but I stole her room? This girl I've literally known less than twenty-four hours? "Does she hate me?"
    He laughs. "No. She even made you eggs out in the kitchen, if you're hungry. But…" He waits until I look at him. "She did ask that we strip her bed. You know, on account of what we did in it last night."
    His words hang in the air between us.  
    I can't move.
    I can't.
    This is so embarrassing.  
    And who knew it was possible to feel aroused through the dredges of a hangover?
    "I never realized it could be so enjoyable to make someone blush." He reaches out and brushes a piece of hair away from my forehead.  
    Maybe I should flirt back. Pat the space next to me and say something provocative. Pick up where we left off last night. But I'm too chicken, too hungover. I just want to disappear. From him, from this room, from the graphic flashbacks of last night that continue to pulse through my mind.  
    And I really need to do something about my breath.  
    I wrap myself more securely in a sheet and slide off the bed with it, escaping past him and into the bathroom. I close the door behind me, leaning on it for a second to fight the swirl of nausea and embarrassment. I find toothpaste on the counter and take my