OBSESSED

54

LEAH

Why is he looking at me like that? I wonder.

Jarrod is grinning like a fool as he approaches in a slow, confident strut.

My heartbeat picks up its tempo until I feel like I'm sprinting.

Am I nervous? Why am I nervous?

I look down. My body is completely naked and I'm laying on my side, patting the comforter under me.

Jarrod reaches the bed and strokes a hand softly down my face. I groan, breathy and needily.

His fingers trail down my cheek to my collarbone to my breast—

I jerked violently awake, flying up into a sitting position. Gasping for air, I looked around for Jarrod and grabbed at my body, feeling for bare skin.

Fortunately, I was not naked. I was wearing the suffocatingly tight dress from last night. An arm suddenly slung around my hips and threatened to pull me back under the sheets. For a moment, I stared down at the lump under the bedding. Holy shit. Did I sleep with Jarrod last night?

Then I looked more closely at the arm. The skin was a pearly white and without any trace of hair. My pulse slowed a little when I recognized Isabelle's tell-tale complexion. Sagging against the headboard, I took a long breath to calm my lingering edge.

I wouldn't have slept with Jarrod anyway. He wasn't good for me. Even drunk-me I understood this. So why was I a little disappointed that it was my best friend in my bed and not my kinda-sorta-ex? I was apparently having wet dreams about him too. Why was letting him go so damn difficult?

Whatever. It would have been nice to wake up and get some, but alas, my slutty inner being will have to wait.

My mind was still contemplating the benefits of having Jarrod here when a surge of bile rose up my throat.

"Oh no," I grumbled.

Shoving off the covers, I crawled to the end of the bed and fell onto the floor. The bile seeped into my mouth and coated my tongue in a heinous flavor. I barely had the strength to drag myself to the toilet in time to spew burning acid from somewhere deep inside. My hands clutched the toilet bowl like a life preserver. Once the vomiting ended, I flushed the toilet and watched the discolored water swirl down into Wonderland. I should have known my misery wasn't over. My organs pinched sharply and then twisted up until I was bent over, dry heaving.

"What the hell . . ." grumbled Isabelle from somewhere in the bedroom.

The heaves finally dissipated. I sat back and wiped my eyes and then my mouth. This fucking sucks.

"You alive in there?" Isabelle hollered.

The loudness of her voice splintered into my brain. I winced at the onslaught of a headache. "Yep," I said. "Alive."

My knees cracked and my thighs quivered as I stood up. I tried to remember what the hell would've made me this sore, but last night was pretty much forgotten. There was some recollection of speed dating and Danny. Danny? What the hell?

Hobbling over to the sink, I washed the sticky makeup off my face from last night and scrubbed any lingering traces of Smirnoff and stomach bile from my tongue. The haggard woman staring back at me in the mirror scrutinized her outfit. My tube top had rotated so only one boob was still in place and my skirt was hiked so high I could practically see my vagina falling out the bottom. God, why didn't I put on pajamas last night? I really was a mess when drunk.