The Third Wheel

Twenty ~ The Morning After

***

Ariella

Thor’s hammer was ramming my skull.

A groan slipped from my lips as I put a hand to my aching head. Oh dear God something was trying to kill me from the inside out. I slowly peeled my eyes open, squinting despite the dim lighting in my bedroom. 

Three things occurred to me in the next moment:

I was not in my own bedroom My mouth felt like sandpaper I had no skirt or top on

Number 2 could be addressed later.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit!” I cursed under my breath, suddenly wide awake. “Where the hell am I?”

Blurry images started coming to me.

Drinking a lot. Sitting in a circle. Laughing a lot. Giggling a lot. Dancing on a coffee table. Kissing someone…kissing someone in this bed…someone’s hands on my skin…

I was suddenly as cold as a popsicle. Scott. Scott Parker. Tristan Parker’s brother. I hooked up with Scott Parker, in his bedroom. My cheeks flushed as if the heat of his passionate touch was still searing into my skin. Holy shit. I was in Scott Parker’s bed.

“Oh double shit!”

I leapt out the bed in nothing but the black lacy lingerie Verity had convinced me to wear. At least I had been wearing sexy underwear, considering how much clothing Scott took off me. My cheeks flushed alarmingly. Scott had seen me in nothing but a bra and panties. Is death by mortification a thing?

I quickly located my top and skirt, aiming for the door. Peeking down the corridor, I bolted for the stairs, tiptoeing as quietly as I could. The house was silent, aside from my ragged breathing. I prayed I wouldn't run into anyone on my way out. I felt like I was in a Mission Impossible movie.

Eventually finding the lounge room in the vast display-home-like-mansion, I zipped up my leather jacket and pulled on my heeled combat boots, feeling a bit less underdressed. My head pounded with every small movement. Wandering through the house, I bit my lip to keep from laughing at Spencer passed out spread eagle in the middle of the kitchen. I ignored the fact he was only in boxers. He seemed to make a habit of that when drunk.

I spotted my bag, grabbing it and making for the doorway - wherever that was.

“Sneaking out already?”

I whipped around.

Carly smirked at me from the doorway to the kitchen, her long legs barely covered by the oversized shirt she was wearing. I quirked a smile.

“Chase’s?” I asked with a suggestive wink.

She grinned, jutting her chin towards my collarbone. “Scott’s?”

“What?” My heart beat quickened.

She strolled over, pushing my top to the side near my neck. “I can spot a hickey from a mile away.”

“A what?” I exclaimed, craning my head. A red and purple round bruise peered up at me mockingly. “Shit,” I swore, for not the first time that morning.

Carly leered. “Someone got down and dirty last night.”

“No, it’s not what it looks like - ”

“Honey, it’s exactly what it looks like.”

“You had some fun of your own,” I threw back. “Poor Jake, I think he had his heart set on scoring with you.”