Chapter seventeen
I was drunk, and he wasn't far off either.
It wasn't the Hollywood s*x scene I wanted, that I imagined, as we kissed earlier. There were no confessions of love, or a hot steamy shower as we discovered one another's bodies and gasped in awe. There was no slow, torturous undressing, or repeat sessions that carried on through the night and into the wee hours.
I didn't want to be alone, and I knew that tonight, neither did he. The only memory I had was of clumsy limbs falling between the sheets, and the feeling of his arms around me.
But little else.
I had slept with the man of my dreams. And I remembered bugger all.
My brain was a mush, a throbbing headache combined with a pressing hunger after my liquid diet last night. I didn't even like whiskey. What was wrong
