Excerpt from Untitled
Copyright © 2015 Krista Pakseresht. All rights reserved.
I feel like I’ve been run over by a semi-truck. No, scratch that, a train. I feel like I’ve been pummeled by a train. My head is throbbing and my throat feels like sandpaper. I swallow a few times, and then slowly open one of my eyelids. I would open both, but that would take double the effort. As the blurriness from my vision begins to dissipate, my eye lands on the lights lining the ceiling. Strange. I don’t remember my bedroom having that many lights.
I attempt to sit up when I realize that I am being pinned down by a heavy object. Irritated, I open my other eye and glance toward my stomach. A dark tanned arm is stretched out across my stomach, holding me down. My heart begins beating erratically. I turn my head and see a handsome man passed out beside me. He is shirtless, and his shoulders are well-defined. My eyes glide over his face, he is Hispanic, no doubt, with black hair and gauged ears. He has a small soul patch and a large circular tattoo right between his shoulder blades. I don’t recognize him from Adam. My eyes dart around the room, attempting to locate anything familiar, but I don’t remember anything from last night, much less the room I am in or the guy who has me pinned to the bed.
My heartbeat is pounding in my ears loudly as I delicately pick up his arm and slip out from underneath it. It takes no more than a few seconds to realize that I am fully naked now and standing in an unfamiliar room with a stranger. I reach for the sheet that had been covering my body and rip it from the bed, wrapping it around myself. Turning around, my eyes search the floor of what appears to be a hotel room for my clothes.
“Good morning, Firecracker,” a deep, velvety voice says followed by a yawn. “Did you sleep well?”
I spin around, frazzled, holding the sheet tightly around my bare body. I am racking my brain, trying to remember something, anything from last night. “Do you know where my clothes are?” I ask, my eyes shifting nervously around the room.
The guy begins to chuckle, dimples forming on both his cheeks. I’m not talking about small dimples, I’m talking the melt-your-heart-off kind. “You don’t remember anything about last night, do you?”
I cringe. The way he is speaking about it leaves my stomach in knots. I shake my head dismissively.