“Did I puke?”
“In the parking lot.”
“Crap,” I said again. The evening’s events were starting to come back to me.
“Not the best first kiss reaction I ever got,” he said with another half-grin, “but at least you didn’t hit me.”
“We kissed?” A shiver ran through me as vague memories of his body pressing mine against the driver’s side door of my car and the taste of his tongue in my mouth ran through my head.
“You don’t remember?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Kind of,” I admitted.
“Definitely not the best reaction, then,” he said.
Crap. After all of this, I’d hurt his pride too.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“Why?” His eyes narrowed again. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.”
“For not remembering?” The statement sounded like a question, and my organs felt as if they were dropping into the lower half of my body. “I mean, I remember a little…some of it.”
There was a long pause as he stared into my eyes.
“Well, hopefully it’s a good memory.” He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the mattress, and I sighed in relief to see that he was actually wearing shorts. I focused for a moment on the additional tattoos covering his legs and even the tops of his feet. I couldn’t quite read the lettering around his calves, but his feet seemed to be decorated with faces surrounded by flowers or clouds—I wasn’t sure which. The images looked religious. Then I realized I was staring and quickly looked away.
The facts of the matter began to overwhelm me again. Yes, I’d desired a little more action in my life, but not like this, not with some tattooed stranger who was as far from my type as he could possibly be. This was a dangerous situation and one to be avoided.
“I need to go home,” I stated.
“Will you at least let me make you some breakfast before I take you back to your car?” Brick Wall asked. “You’ve got to have a hell of a headache.”
“I need to go home,” I repeated quietly.
“You still ought to eat,” he said. “I’m a great cook—I swear.”
Great, I was hurting his pride again. I swallowed hard before answering him.
“I appreciate it. I really do, but I need to get home. I don’t do stuff like this.”
“Like what?” he asked.
“Like being half naked in a stranger’s apartment on a Saturday morning,” I replied. “I should be at the grocery store now.”
“The store?” He laughed, and I felt my blood rise into my cheeks. “Sounds exciting.”
“I always shop on Saturday morning.”
“Then what?”
“Then laundry and maybe a movie.”
“Yeah, that’s some weekend life you lead.”
I looked up at him and tried not to glare. I didn’t need some guy I didn’t know commenting on my lifestyle or habits, but I’d already offended him by not accepting breakfast and bemoaning the whole kissing thing.
I licked my lips, and clearer memories of his mouth on mine surfaced.