Harper possessed a rare talent - she could blend two worlds that the universe swore could never coexist: her humdrum life as an accountant by day with her steamy famous alter ego crafting erotic tales online by night.
But her double life unravels in...
❝You can, you can knock me off my feet But I won't stop now, you can take a seat You can, you can knock me off my feet But I won't stop now, you can take a seat❞
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I was never going to live down the fact that I'd drunkenly kissed the pizza thief.
The morning sun filtered through the curtains, assaulting my tired eyes like a thousand tiny daggers.
Groaning, I pulled the pillow over my head, vowing never to leave the cozy sanctuary of my bed. I had a pounding headache and a deep-seated sense of dread that I couldn't shake. And no, not even playing Shake It Off would help.
Migraine was a mild term for what I was feeling. This was a full-blown, epic hangover, the kind that made you regret every questionable life choice you'd ever made. As I shifted, even the rustle of the sheets felt like a live grenade had detonated in my skull.
This was precisely why I didn't do shots. Last night, I'd apparently forgotten that critical piece of information.
What had gotten into me?
Oh right. The alcohol.
The hazy memories of the dance floor, of being thrown around like a ragdoll by Megan, and the kiss...the goddamn kiss-those were the ghosts of a drunken night, haunting me like a bad horror movie.
There was a distinct problem.
Aiden.
I couldn't face him. No way.
He'd witnessed my drunken shenanigans and succumbed to wild Harper. I couldn't remember if he'd kissed me back. I couldn't remember much really but giggling and smiling a lot, enough to make my face muscles hurt this morning.
I'd almost convinced myself to retreat further under my blanket fort when there came an insistent knocking at my door. It had to be Aiden. He was out there, probably still cool and collected while I wallowed in my misery.
"Go away!" I croaked, cranky. Then added, "Please," hoping my voice conveyed the appropriate level of 'I am suffering, do not enter.'
The knocking continued, relentless. I considered hiding in my closet. It wasn't the most heroic plan, but it seemed like a solid defense against the embarrassment I was certain awaited me.
But then Aiden's voice drifted through the door, casual and disarming.
"Inks, come on. I've got a hangover cure for you."
My curiosity piqued, and my pain-wracked body mustered enough motivation to stagger to the door and open it. Aiden stood there, looking obnoxiously put together as if he hadn't been a part of the same chaos I'd experienced last night.
His messy head of black curls was alarmingly tamed, combed back with some of the stray waves tucked behind his ears. His face looked a little more flush than usual but I realized that had more to do with his morning run than him standing here at my threshold.
