Not So Far Away (Worlds Collide The Duets #1) - LL Meyer Page 0,1
hair. After I wash my hands, I make a brief attempt to clean myself up while trying to cajole my memory into giving up its secrets.
Slowly, it starts to trickle in . . . getting ready with Candy. Gunnar and Cody picking us up, the club, shots, dancing, more and more shots . . . sitting on some guy’s lap . . . some guy who’s not Gunnar. The memories become even murkier at this point, but I’m definitely getting the impression that I made out with this guy who’s not my boyfriend.
Where was Gunnar? Another deep breath brings more information, and I’m suddenly wishing it hadn’t. Gunnar was there. And we agreed to . . . Swap? With strangers? Damnit, Gunnar . . . except maybe it was my idea.
After that, even though my mind tries to shut down the memories, I get flashes of ropes and sex, lots and lots of sex . . . with strangers.
With my hand covering my mouth, I watch my head give a tiny shake of denial in the mirror. Did I want that? Why did I want that? While I’m the furthest thing from a prude, it doesn’t make sense. I promised myself I wouldn’t do things like this anymore. The nagging ugliness of regret will stay with me for days and knowing it wasn’t me who made such potentially unsafe choices, but the alcohol, makes it even worse. Gin doesn’t just lower my inhibitions, it obliterates them . . . and Gunnar knows that.
“That’s not important right now, Piper,” I whisper to myself.
I slink into the super-quiet hall and teeter my way toward the light coming from the living area. I’m in an apartment and it’s bright. Floor to ceiling windows flood a combined kitchen and living space with light, but I get not a hint of recognition. My already jittery heart takes off at a gallop when I spot a guy sitting in an armchair in the corner with his head bent over his cellphone.
Fight or flight?
“Who are you?” I demand.
Fight it is then.
The guy’s head jerks up. This is not the guy from last night, and worse, I don’t like the disdain he paints me with from head to toe. I step closer to the kitchen island to shield my lower half as his disgust morphs into annoyance. “Finally. You got your shit together?” he says. “I’ve got things to do today.”
“Like tie a completely wasted woman to a bed?”
He blanches slightly under the dark brown of his well-trimmed beard. His eyes linger on the ripped strap of my dress that hangs low enough to show a bruise forming on the slope of my breast.
“Don’t pretend you weren’t into it.”
He gets to his feet and fight immediately becomes flight. With fear rushing me like a linebacker, I turn on my heel to dart for the door.
I hear, “Hey!” just as the door closes behind me. Unsure of which way to go, I feel panic begin to well up in me until the elevator dings about twenty feet down the hall. Scurrying in my heels, I slip past a mom with a stroller who’s getting off. Another, “Hey!” echoes down the hall, making me punch frantically at the lobby button until the door finally slides closed.
For all eight floors of the descent, I stare at the number panel in a daze while my heart pounds in my chest. Why would I put myself in that situation? The swooping sensation of coming to a stop forces me to brace my unsteady legs. The door opens and I squint against the bright, natural light as I stumble out onto marble tiles. I don’t make it very far. Propping myself against the wall, I haul deep breaths into my lungs in an effort to think clearly.
I need to get home. Uber. I’ll just order a ride. That, combined with the thought of my emergency cash being tucked into the case of my cellphone, loosens the vise around my chest. That is until I hear the sound of the elevator being summoned. That creep wouldn’t follow me down here, would he?
Out on the quiet sidewalk, I turn a desperate circle, searching for something to tell me where I am. But nothing stands out among the parked cars or the few trees; it could be any street in any city in California. What if I’m up in San Francisco or something? Or Sacramento?