Only you | Derek Morgan

A pair of tits and some promises

D E R E K ' S P O V

I didn't plan to wake up on Christmas Eve with a raging hangover, but here I am.

Groaning at the pain in my head when I roll my head on the pillow, I slowly blink my tired eyes open to find Layla sound asleep on my chest.

I touch my lips to her forehead. "Good morn—"

Layla reluctantly pries one eye lid open, scowls at me like even speaking to her before nine a.m is a crime and places her hand over my mouth before I can even finish my sentence. Clearly I'm not the only one suffering from a hangover this morning.

But that's nothing a couple aspirin and some coffee can't solve and I'll have to get her some before Layla will even as much as consider waking up, let alone talking to me.

So I carefully roll her off of me and tuck the comforter around her. I suppress my laughter when she doesn't stir one bit.

I stand up and yawn when I stretch my body out. When my eyes begin to focus again on my arms stretched out over my head, I pause when I see what I'm wearing. Christmas jammies. Red and green striped pyjamas with little gingerbread men across the print. When I look back towards Layla in bed and see her wearing a matching pair, last nights antics all come flooding back to me.

After Adam and I left the gym last night we stopped at a bar for a beer. The weirdness he felt about me dating his sister all melted away and the topic was almost forgotten about when we got to talking, and one beer turned to ten.

And when we eventually semi stumbled back to Layla's dads house, her dad was already in bed and we found Layla and Violet in the living room watching Christmas movies. Layla was already several glasses of wine deep and pounced on me the second she saw me, ushering the matching pyjamas into my hands.

The alcohol in my system was the only reason she convinced me to wear these pyjamas. I swear. It's not like I can't say no to her because I absolutely can. I can. I can.

Last night is all coming back to me now. Violet was the sober instigator and I refuse to confirm or deny that she convinced me to do a karaoke rendition of Mariah Carey's all I want for Christmas. On a side note, I will be stealing everyone's phones at some point this weekend and deleting the videos. That aside, it was a great night.

But now when I eventually drag myself down to the kitchen, I realise I probably should have changed first because Layla's dad is sitting at the kitchen table and is definitely going to mention my pyjamas.

"Morning," His eyes lift from the newspaper in his hands to me. "Coffee is in the pot."

I'm waiting for a comment and I'm pleasantly surprised when one doesn't come. I fully expected him to make fun of my gingerbread men Christmas pyjamas, but he doesn't say anything and focuses back on his newspaper.

"Thanks," I move past him and pour two mugs of coffee. "Do you have any aspirin?"

"Hungover?" He laughs and nods behind me. "Top right cabinet."

I wince. "Did we wake you last night?" Now that the alcohol isn't clouding my voice level, I don't know how he couldn't have heard us all. At one point all four of us were practically scream singing jingle bells and we laughed so much I feel like I did three hours of ab workouts yesterday. When he nods, I wince again. "Shit, I'm sorry."