Sand In My Boots: The Sequel

Chapter 4

I slowly opened my eyes, my brain pounding against the walls of my head. I let out a soft grunt, using my hand as a visor to protect my barely awake self from the glaring sunlight that was warming up the conservatory.

An empty bottle of whiskey was sitting on the floor next to two crystal glasses, one of them stained in the peach lipstick I had been wearing the day before. I rubbed my forehead lightly, desperately trying to make the raging headache go away.

Morgan's arm was still wrapped around my waist, our bodies fully naked if not for the light blanket resting on our lower halves. I felt the chilly air tickling my shoulders and pulled at the blanket, attempting to cover myself up. The feel of the fabric brushing against his skin woke Morgan up and I watched him as his eyelids fluttered, his face twisting into a pained grimace as he tried to open his eyes. He rubbed his forehead in a similar fashion I had mine only a few seconds ago.

"Mistakes were made," I whispered, referring to the amount of alcohol we had consumed the night before. He grunted, his arm pulling my body closer into his as I felt his morning wood brush against my ass.

"The things I would do to you right now if I wasn't on the verge of throwing up," he whispered. I giggled.

"I think we overdid it a bit," I admitted.

"You think?" He answered sarcastically, placing a soft, breathy kiss against the back of my neck. "What time is it?" He asked.

I glanced at the clock on the small end table and my eyes widened as the realization hit me.

"It's almost two o'clock!" I gasped, freeing myself from his soft grasp and getting up abruptly. The minute I got on my feet, my head started spinning as I fought against the urge to throw up on the floor. I sat back down next to him.

"It's fine, don't worry about it. I know my mom is probably more than happy to be spending time with the kids," he reassured me, resting his hand lazily on my thigh.

"Maybe," I admitted.

"Come back to bed," he insisted, pulling lightly at my arm, his face still mushed into the pillow.

"We're not in bed. We're still in the conservatory."

"Whatever," he mumbled, still holding on to my arm.

"Give your mom a call first," I demanded.

My request was met with a grunt, Morgan not moving an inch.

"Please," I begged. "I want to know everything's okay."

"Fine," he groaned, opening his eyes and his hand searching for his phone. He pulled it out from under the pillow and showed me his lock screen.

"See, 0 missed texts, 0 missed calls. Everyone's fine," he breathed, trying to calm me down.

"Just, give her a call please?" I insisted. He rolled his eyes playfully and put the phone to his ear. I gave him a faint smile before getting up to go fetch coffee and put something on.

***

I had thrown on a t-shirt and an old pair of gray sweatpants, pulled my hair back into a ponytail and gotten the coffee started when something caught my attention. I could hear Morgan was still on the phone with his mom when I noticed the shadow against the opaque window of the front door. I squinted my eyes, trying to make out the shape, but still couldn't figure out what was causing the dark spot. I opened the door slowly and found an envelope taped to the window. It had my name and address handwritten on it. No return address. What the fuck. This cannot be good.