You were awoken by light steaming in from your open window, causing you to roll over and groan. Morning afters were the worst. Your mouth was dry, your head was pounding, and your legs felt like jelly. You looked down at your naked torso to see bruises and hickeys littering your skin, a satisfied smile coming across your face as the memories of last night came in flashes. Going to the bar, meeting this gorgeous guy, flirting, dancing, the steamy cab ride home before a long night of sex. So much sex. The room was reeking of it. You sunk back further in the pillows, trying to remember the name of the guy who had already graciously left your apartment. Oh yeah, Ashton. How could you forget the name you screamed for nearly three hours straight? You supposed alcohol could do that to a person. You grabbed your phone from you beside table, groaning when you saw it was 10 o'clock. You had work in two hours and a lot to do beforehand so you grudgingly sat up on the edge of the bed, yawning and stretching. You noticed a glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen and gladly took it, assuming your roommate Michael had left that there for you. On your way to the bathroom, you saw a pile of men's clothes neatly folded on a chair, your brow crinkling in a confusion before a feeling of horror washed over you.
"Oh no". You muttered, grabbing one of Michael's old t-shirts of the floor and yanking it on before stepping out of your bedroom into the hallway. You were greeted by the smell of pancakes and sounds of cooking in the kitchen, causing you to grown inwardly. You knew damn good and well it wasn't Michael cooking which could only mean...
"Morning Y/N." The curly haired boy from last night teased, flipping a pancake expertly. He was wearing nothing but black boxer briefs, his gloriously built tanned body on full display, causing your mouth to water slightly as your eyes traveled south, last night once again hitting you like a freight train. Your roommate Michael sat at the bar, munching away happily on some pancakes.
"How are you feeling this morning?" Ashton asked, taking the pancake out of the pan setting it on a plate.
"Im fine, just sore." You mumbled. Michael snorted, taking a drink from a glass of orange juice, ignoring the glare you were giving him.
"Did you find the ibuprofen I left for you?" He asked, pouring pancake mix into the pan to start another one.
"Uh yeah, thanks. Hey Mike can I talk to you for a second?" Your asked through a forced smile. Michael shoved another forkful of pancakes into his mouth before pushing himself backwards, the stool scraping the tile harshly. He followed you out of the kitchen into your bedroom, unperturbed by your hostile demeanor. You closed the door behind the two of you, whirling around to glare at your roommate.
"What?" Michael asked innocently.
"You were supposed to get rid of him." You hissed, crossing your arms over your chest.
"But he made pancakes." Michael whined, pouting at you. You groaned and pulled at your hair, a habit you did when you were frustrated.
"Michael you know-" You started to say before he cut you off.
"Yeah I know how you are but seriously, why don't you give anyone a chance?" Michael asked, licking syrup off his fingers, you screwing your up face in disgust. "He seems really nice, makes amazing pancakes, incredibly good looking, and from the sound of it last night, he's really good in the sack. How many times did I hear you orgas last night? Six I think?" Michael smirked as your face turned red.
"Seven actually." You muttered, Michael's smirk widening.
"See? Seems like a catch. At least give him another shot instead of straight up kicking him to the curb."
"You just like him cause he made pancakes." You accused, picking at your cuticles to avoid Michael's stare. He sighed and threw his hands in the air.
