The Kiss Lottery: A Novella by Ilsa Madden-Mills

Author:Ilsa Madden-Mills [Madden-Mills, Ilsa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Montlake
Published: 2025-02-11T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Everly

I wake up feeling like a truck hit me. My head throbs, my mouth tastes like sandpaper, and my memory is fuzzy. I roll over and notice that I’m in my bra and panties. Weird. Usually, I take off my bra, put on a shirt, then crash.

I stretch and sit up. “What the heck happened last night?” I mutter. I recall Beckett being my match—then vomiting. Ugh. I bury my face in my hands.

Still muttering, I pull on a pair of joggers, a tee, and an old cardigan that comes to my knees. After washing the leftover makeup off and brushing my teeth, I feel almost human.

I pad out to the den and let out a garbled shriek.

What the hell is Beckett doing sprawled out on my couch in his boxers?

Potato chips are scattered across his chest, and Murder is curled up next to his armpit. Even weirder, the coffee table is full of chicken bones. Not only that but the smell of something burnt lingers in the air.

“That was some scary weed,” I murmur as I tiptoe closer. He stirs slightly, mumbling in his sleep. I notice the way his luxurious black lashes rest against his cheeks.

I stare at his pillowy lips, then move to the thick dark stubble on his jawline. His chest is a work of art, unfortunately, toned and sculpted, all the way down to his abs. Murder opens one eye, gives me a smirk, then goes back to her nap. Traitor.

“Beckett,” I hiss as I poke his scruffy cheek. “Wake up!”

He groans and slowly opens his eyes, blinking up at me. His eyebrows slant down. “Everly? What are you doing in my house?”

“This is my house. What are you doing here? What happened?”

He sits up, dislodging a few chips. “I, uh, we went through the drive-through at KFC. Then you wanted a Coke from Sonic. You like their ice. Did you eat already?”

He’s half-asleep. As I glance at the bones, an image flashes into my head of me gnawing down on a leg. Yikes. I do go completely cavewoman when I get high.

“That was hours ago.”

“Give me a minute,” he mutters, raking a hand through his dark hair. He sits up fully and takes in that it’s really my house. He glances down at his underwear. “Oh, shit. Did we—”

I cut him off. “No. I’d remember that.”

He side-eyes me. “Yes, you would.”

My gaze shifts lower, and my face heats. There’s a situation happening in his crotch. It’s huge. “Um . . . ,” I call out, glancing around the room for something to distract myself with.

He grabs a throw pillow and plops it over his crotch. “I just woke up. You’ve seen me in my underwear before. Remember the fire?” Then he chuckles.

“What’s so funny?”

“You. Acting all scandalized. Like you haven’t seen a guy with morning wood before. Where are my clothes?” he says as he stands, then weaves on his feet. He stumbles; his knee bangs into the coffee table. He barks out a curse.

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