One Drunken Night

one: Maybe

Chapter 1 // Sunday Morning

Kelly's

"OMG WTF ASDFGHJKL"

Those three expressions are the first to surface over my freshly awoken mind.

Sunday Mornings. Birds are chirping harmoniously outside my windows. The morning dew perfumes the atmosphere as Mother Nature radiates positive vibes through my vintage glass window. Another ordinary Lazy Sunday Morning. La la la la la...

Freeze!

Wait a minute. Hold up. Something doesn't feel right. Usually I am able to roll around in my cozy corner, but today, it feels a little tight. Something is there.

Someone is there.

How did I land myself up in this sketchy situation? Think, Kelly, think. What happened last night? After dinner with Jaclyn, it was Pretty Little Liars until I fell asleep. Clayton had friends over and they kicked up a massive ruckus. Drunk teenagers would be the death of me.

I blink my eyes, as if refreshing the current situation. Only now do I 'sober up' and distinctively feel the burden of a pair of heavy right limbs draped across me. I discreetly peer over my shoulder, only to see an head of messy ash-brown short hair.

Its definitely a guy. 

I freeze, the degree of this 'sketchy situation' finally dawns on me, hitting me like a punch in the face. The mini follicles of hair on this unknown trespasser's legs tickles me. Is he even wearing shorts? Oh my gosh... Did we, you know? I mentally cross my fingers, praying hard that this does not evolve into the worst-case scenario.

Meekly, I pull away the covers, not wanting to wake Mr. Anon up from his slumber. God, please let his boxers or whatever still be on. What if something really took place between us last night? I don't want to have unconscious sex! How could I lose my virginity to some random invader? I was supposed to save it for Gavin. What now? 

I take a peek under the covers, lifting it on the count of three.

Whew.

I just want to say thank you, God, I will count my lucky stars now. (Note to self: Please take church more seriously.)

The bed thief stirs in his sound sleep, obviously oblivious to his happening surroundings. He even shamelessly tightens his wrap around me, pulling me into him as if I'm a giant fluffy teddy bear. He may be comfortable, but excuse you; I'm not.

"Get up!" I yell at him, trying to yank his stern grip off me. I exert all my force on the plane of his chest, but it seems to make no difference. He grunts and simply ignores my desperate callings. Seriously, this guy needs to go.

The rising and falling of his chest sees no interruption. I finally understand the difficulty of having to wake up heavy sleepers, as I am a pretty bad case myself. Clayton would always have to physically drag me out of bed to get ready for school. (I am not a morning person.)

I give him one last shove with all my might. His body unravels from mine, falling onto the ground with a loud thud. I swear the floor just rumbled.

This dead log is definitely heavier than he looks.

"Arrrrghh!' He whines in a low and cranky morning-voice, grumpily sitting up on the floor. His eyebrow game is so strong, complementing his Ashby hair that tousled naturally. He rubs his eyes, slowly fluttering it half open to reveal a pair of gorgeous marine teal irises.

Talk about eye candy.

"Who are you? And what are doing in my room?" I demand furiously but keeping my voice low in fear of awaking anyone else. That definitely did not come out as a politely posed question.