Maid in Ink by B.D. Fresquez

Author:B.D. Fresquez [Fresquez, B.D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Typewriter Pub
Published: 2022-09-25T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

The pounding in my head ultimately wakes me up. I feel as if I haven’t drunk any water in weeks. I roll over in bed and catch the faintest hint of cologne in the sheets.

My eyes can’t open fast enough as I immediately sit up and see that I’m in a real bed and not on Casey’s couch. I see a desk in the corner and a small TV on a table in front of the bed.

Hotel room. I’m in a hotel room.

Movement next to me makes me glance down to see who’s causing it. I spot a head of slightly curly brown hair sticking out from the sheets and I try to think back to last night. I remember driving to the bar with the girls after the strip club but I don’t really remember what happened after that.

The figure moves next to me and twists his head, revealing his face—Dylan’s.

There’s a wave of relief that hits me knowing it’s not some random stranger, but then a different kind of panic hits me. Did I hook up with Dylan last night?

I’m still in my dress, but I can’t tell if Dylan has any clothes on. I gently step out of bed and make a run for the bathroom to pee. I shut the door behind me and do my business before looking in the mirror as I wash my hands. My hair is sticking up in every direction and my eyeliner is smudged up to hell. I get mad at myself for falling asleep in my makeup. I was doing so well with my nightly skin care routine. I look like a hot mess now.

And my fake lashes are nowhere to be found. Great.

I wipe off as much makeup as I can with a small towel so I don’t look like a crazy person. When I open the door, I find a naked torso in front of me.

Dylan is rubbing his eyes and he finally looks down at me. “Morning,” he says, smiling lightly. He’s only wearing his boxers, so my mind goes into panic mode.

“What happened—”

He covers my mouth. “No offense, but I gotta piss before we talk about last night.”

I nod and he removes his hand. I step around him as he enters the bathroom and closes the door.

My head is killing me. I should’ve known better to pack some painkillers for this weekend. My heels are tossed off to the side, and I begin searching for my phone. It’s not in the sheets or near my shoes. Instead, I find it charging on the desk next to my fake eyelashes.

I pick up my phone and see that it’s nearing ten o’clock in the morning. I have missed calls from Casey, Lauren, and Anthony. Texts from last night to this morning fill my inbox—mostly from Anthony and Casey—asking where I went, where I am, and if I’m safe.

I better call them both to let them know I’m okay. Maybe they can fill the gaps from last night.

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