“The bar and walk I remember,” she croaked. “That’s about it.”
It wasn’t a complete lie. She’d been very inebriated, inconsolable over the loss of her patient. Drake had done what he always did—make it better, help her forget.
“Hopefully, it’ll come back to us later. For now, we can’t assume anything happened.”
They’d shared the same bed many times during their lifelong friendship, and nothing had ever happened. Not even an accidental brush of arms. Hell, he’d seen her in her underwear plenty of times. But…
“We were still clearly on our own sides of the bed,” he continued, without meeting her gaze. “There’s no clue—”
“I feel sore,” she blurted out. “My whole body does.”
“You were drunk. You could’ve fallen or something.”
Love wondered when Drake had turned into Mr. Positivity. The proof was staring them right in the face. The bed. She scanned the rest of the room before zeroing in on the bed again. Frowning, she walked closer to it and ran a finger over the tiny bright red spot. Closing her eyes, she gasped. “Oh, my God!”
“Stop saying that,” he said, between clenched teeth.
“It’s blood. There’s your clue. We had sex.”
“Love, you’re not a virgin. The blood is probably from a paper cut or something.”
“You don’t really believe that, do you?”
He glared at her. “Just…be quiet. Let me think.”
“You know we had sex,” she muttered under her breath. And the worst part? She didn’t remember the details. If she was going to participate in something that would more than likely ruin her friendship with Drake, she would’ve liked to remember it.
CHAPTER 2
Drake had a headache. And it was getting worse by the minute. He peered down at the tiny speck of blood on the stark white sheet. Shit.
The evidence was there. They’d woken up in bed together naked, she’d admitted her body was sore, and now there was visual proof. Not that he needed it. He knew exactly what had happened between them, but he couldn’t say the word out loud. The memories were coming fast and furious with each passing minute, with her standing in front of him in nothing but the hotel bathrobe.
“What are we going to do?” she asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Nothing.” He cracked his knuckles, rolled his neck and plopped down next to her. When she scooted away from him, Drake tried to tell himself that he wasn’t bothered. “We just have to deal with it. It happened.”
She twisted the tie of the robe around her fingers. “I know we have two bedrooms, but maybe you should move into a separate room for the remainder of the trip.”
He hated this. Love was his best friend. They’d spent countless hours together, shared many a hotel room and even a bed—platonically. He’d never thought anything else about it—until now. “What’s that going to prove? Apparently, we’ve already seen everything there is to see.”
“That’s not funny.”
It wasn’t; he knew that.
“What if…it happens again?” she whispered.
His eyes snapped to hers. “It won’t. I’m never drinking with you again.”
She lowered her gaze. “You don’t have to say it like that,” she mumbled.
“How am I supposed to say it?” he asked incredulously. “You’re my home girl. We’ve never done anything remotely close to this.”
“We can’t say that anymore,” she muttered under her breath.
They exchanged glances before turning away. “I guess not,” he agreed.
“I hope this doesn’t affect our friendship.”
“It won’t.” As much as he hoped it wouldn’t, the very conversation they were having indicated that it might. Theirs was a relationship of comfort as much as it was one of respect and unconditional love, not marred by the hurt feelings and expectations that often accompany a love affair. Now, he couldn’t even make eye contact with her—a fact that didn’t go unnoticed.
“You can’t even look at me, Drake.”
“Neither can you,” he retorted.
Love sighed and stood up. “Maybe I should just hop in the shower.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe you can soak in the bathtub,” he suggested. “It’ll help with the soreness.”
Without another word, she walked into the bathroom and closed the door. Once he heard the lock click, he fell back on the bed. As he listened to running water, he ran a hand down his face. He needed Advil and quickly.
They’d had sex. But something didn’t seem right. What had made this time different from every other time? Why would they choose this trip to get busy? The sight of Love clutching the sheet against her breasts for dear life haunted him. She was scared and teary-eyed. He closed his eyes tightly, hoping to erase the image.