Chapter 8
NAOMI
A wave of nausea rolls over me the second I open my eyes.
The bed is cool, chilled against my cheek as my eyes adjust to the darkness, and somewhere in the back of my mind, my first thought comes to the conclusion that all alcohol is bad.
Very bad.
My second thought goes to how dry my mouth is and the third thought tries to figure out where the hell I am.
I’ve never seen this bedroom I’m in before. It’s definitely not mine—not the one that has a stack of books in one corner and every movie that Julia Roberts has ever made in the other.
A king would envy the mattress I’m waking up in right now, and though it’s dark, my fingers can feel the many-thread quality of the expensive sheets beneath me.
Whose bed am I in? And how the hell did I get here?
I sure as hell don’t
