Last Letters to Ara (The Last Series Book 1) by Kaymie Wuerfel

Author:Kaymie Wuerfel [Wuerfel, Kaymie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kaymie Wuerfel
Published: 2023-08-31T16:00:00+00:00

Present - Ara

PARADOXICAL.

Dictionary.com defines it as: “A statement or proposition that seems self-contradictory or absurd but in reality, expresses a possible truth.” It’s a word I’ve never been able to wrap my brain around until now. I have, undoubtedly, the worst migraine anybody has ever had, and yet I’ve never felt more serene.

Paradoxical.

My bed feels entirely different. Softer. Bigger. My sheets smell different, too, yet still familiar, pulling at a memory far back in my mind. I’m wrapped up in this amazing scent somewhere between green woods and baked cinnamon goodies. I peel back my eyelids with considerable effort and startle, realizing two things very quickly.

First, this is not my room.

Second, I don’t know who this room belongs to.

It’s admittedly very nice, to the point where I’m worried that I’ve left a trail of poor in my tracks. The floor-to-ceiling windows let in the amount of daylight that I thought I could only dream of being surrounded by each day. There is a perfect cushioned bench in one corner of the room, making it the perfect spot to curl up with a book.

The walls are painted a beautiful light gray, setting the perfect tone for the black-and-white-themed décor and marble floors. My favorite feature, aside from the possible book nook, is the ambient lighting installed between the levels of the panned marble ceiling, lighting the walls and creating a stunning amount of depth.

It could be worse. I could have woken up in someone’s basement... or a ditch. After surveying most of the room and deem that I’m not in immediate danger, I prepare for the worst and look down to survey myself.

Shit.

I’m wearing only my bra and underwear, which is standard uniform for post-hookup mornings, based on what I’ve seen in the movies and read in books. My entire body aches and throbs with the tiniest of movements. That’s not a reassuring sign of innocence, either. I’m about to mentally retrace my steps from yesterday to figure out how I got here, when someone releases a gentle, contented sigh.

Code fucking red.

Holy shit. I’m not alone.

There is someone else in this mammoth of a bed, whom I hadn’t even noticed until now because it’s so massive. This is so, so not good news. I have no recollection of who is lying next to me, and per evidence at hand, lying together is likely not all that we did.

It’s bad news all around when I realize that I will be walking the red carpet of shame in my Fruit of the Loom, strawberry print undies that don’t even match my wireless bralette, which does nothing for my boobs. I should at least be allowed a morsel of dignity and get to sneak out with the illusion of big tits.

The fact that I have zero recollection of how I got here is beyond unsettling. When I slept with Blake for the first time in college, was I buzzed? Yes. Was I so drunk that I didn’t know exactly what or who I was doing? Absolutely not.

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