Pretending (Westshore Series #1)

Chapter Thirteen: Warner Brooks Charity Project

My skull feels like it weighs a ton. I can't breathe like I literally can't. My lungs feel like they're being compressed by a ton of weight. Quickly springing into panic mode, I wrench my eyes open and try to wriggle out from beneath the weight, all while battling the headache from hell.

Someone grunts near me and I freeze. My hands stop shoving something that feels like a wall of steel and I scoot closer to the edge of the bed.

What on earth?

"Is that how you wake people up?" Warner groans next to me, finally removing his arm from over my torso.

Warner. Arm. Torso. Bed. My Bed.

I let out a shriek loud enough to wake my neighbours.

"You forgot I was here didn't you?" A very, shirtless Warner yawns and stretches out. My eyes are pivoted to his extremely shirtless body, fixating on his rippling muscles and defined stomach. How is it possible to look this good, first thing in the morning? Even his hair looks perfect and it hasn't been touched by a brush.

"Yeah, I think that's it." Struggling to breathe, I look away. The bed creaks, telling me that he has gotten up.

"You can look now, I'm decent."

He sounds smug, a little too smug for my taste but it's deserved. He knows I've been checking him out. Heck, every girl he meets must check him out. How do you not do that, with someone who looks as good as he does? I'm not blind; I'm a teenager with hormones.

"How much did I drink last night?" I groan.

I have visions of James Stone and Sierra. Slashing Sierra's tires.

"I tried to get you to stop but you said it was part of the experience." He snorts and settles down next to me. He pries my hands away from my face and makes me look at him. All the while, I am alternating between the urge to puke and battling a sure-fire heart attack. Being near Warner does weird things to me, I swear.

"What's the point of getting drunk If I can remember every stupid thing I did under the influence!"

"You didn't do anything stupid. You finally stood up for yourself and I think thats pretty amazing."

I look at the determined expression on his face. I realize yesterday I did things I have always wanted to do. I stood up to a guy who used to make me feel like I was worthless. I was myself in front of the whole high school instead of being the shy, quiet, meek Juliet. I did something incredibly reckless, I slashed the tires of Sierras car but it made me feel good so I let it pass.

"You're right, I am sort of amazing arent I?"

He chuckles and gets up to leave before weirdly giving me one last look over.

I go to my own ensuite; ready to shower till I turn into a prune but something makes me freeze.

Please don't let it be true.

Shutting my eyes I turn on my heels so that I'm standing right in front of my full-length mirror. It's not my bird nest hair that's causing me to turn beetroot red, nor is it the mascara smeared all over my face. What is absolutely mortifying is the fact that I'm not wearing any pants!

Oh My God.

I slept in the same bed with Warner Brooks and forgot to wear pants. Someone, please fetch the cyanide.

After showering and washing all of yesterday's grime off, I get dressed but when I head downstairs I find Warner downstairs, whistling as he cooks. What was he still doing here?

Trying to be noiseless, I tiptoe down to him. His back is turned towards me and I can tell he's making coffee.

"How much sugar do you take in this?"