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chapter twenty-three olivia prescott
my eyes fluttered open softly and my vision turned blurry. suddenly, a painful weight was held on my head, making me grip it in agony. ugh, i hate hangover headaches so much.
i stretched my arms and turned over to cuddle my fuzzy blanket when i felt a warm spot instead, like somebody had been beside me. then i sat up and my eyes practically popped out of my head.
i'm in grayson's bed.
grayson dolan's bed in his room.
what the fuck?
but why i'm in his room was a question i didn't know the answer to. i got out of his bed, realising i was still wearing the same dress from the night before. i literally remember nothing from last night apart from dancing with grayson and april.
i noticed there was a long mirror on one of his walls so i walked up to it, walking past a white hoodie on the floor, and actually almost threw up at how ugly i looked. i had mascara smeared across my eyes and cheeks, my dress was coming up past my knees. don't even get me started on my hair. it looked like a bird came and shat in it, slept in it for 9 hours then flew off.
i noticed a white velvet scrunchie on my wrist so i fisted my hair and tied it up - i couldn't be bothered finding a hairbrush. in the mirror behind me, i saw a pack of makeup wipes so i grabbed a few of them and wiped the leftover mascara and eyeshadow. wait, how come all of my face makeup was wiped off? april probably did it.
i straighted my dress so it didn't look like it was riding up my ass and sighed. suddenly, i heard a pan crash on the floor from the other room, scaring me hard to death followed by a low-pitched 'shit'.
i sniggered, trying to ignore the nervous feeling rushing through me. i decided to be brave and walk through the kitchen to face grayson. as soon as i entered the kitchen, i was greeted by grayson's back muscles. holy fuckety frick.
grayson was dressed in nothing but black jeans and white vans socks. even the back of him was a sight for sore eyes if i must say myself. i cleared my throat, making sure he was aware that i was here. he turned around, eyebrows raising and lips widening as soon as his eyes met mine. my eyes, however, trailed down to his abs. holy jesu–
"oh, you're up," he grinned, placing a pan on the stove, "sorry, i didn't mean to wake you up." "you didn't," i replied, taking my eyes off him and glancing at the clock on the kitchen wall. it was only 10 minutes to 11. confused, i tried to clean the air.
