【 Stranded 】 Miguel O'Hara

Part 7

She had been possessed.

That had been her sole conclusion as she splashed water on her face over the bathroom sink.

God, Lori had known she was a flirty drunk. Glen and even Gigi had mentioned it before, how she became very... Touchy-feely. But she'd never really known the extent of it until now. Until a death-inducing headache pulsed in her head along with even more fatal memories of the night before. Memories of slinging her arms around Miguel's neck, pressing herself against him, seeing his dark severe look and how he had pushed away her advances, forcing her to retreat.

She slapped both hands over her rosy cheeks, making a mess of water all over the sink. Necessary, to force out the thoughts that haunted her. Miguel was surely enraged with her, though she hadn't yet seen him. He was usually away from the apartment in the mornings, though he would never give a straight answer as to why. But here she was grateful, at least it meant she would have time to collect herself and figure out how she would manage to face him again.

With a sigh Lori switched off the tap, pinning her arms to either side of the sink. Her eyes pinched as she glared at her reflection, reprimanding the heavily hungover girl who stared back. She had gone too far with the flirting, that was for sure. Usually, she'd only do so to poke the bear, but yesterday there had been intent. And honestly, she'd been afraid to confront it...

Sure, Miguel was attractive, with a face and body sculpted like a Greek god, anybody could admit that. But she wasn't like... into him, into him. Plus, she was in no shape or form ready for another relationship. Not after the grief of her last one and not with the broody, stoic spiderman that she was assisting in leaving her dimension.

She could only get hurt again by trying anything with him...

But Christ, her mind kept trailing back to when Miguel had been kind. When he'd comforted a crying Ami, when he'd wrapped his arm around Lori's waist to scare off Lewis Allan, when he'd made sure she was safe when she was drunk. But the act that stuck with Lori the most was the fact he took the time to look at her paintings. To actually look at them past their pretty exterior and feel what Lori had when making them. No one had ever made that effort before. Not even Glen. In fact, he had never been a huge supporter of Lori's art, thinking that it was wise to stick with what she knew. Science. Just as her sister and parents had once pushed on her too. But Miguel —the ever pragmatic and unemotive Miguel— had taken an interest in her craft. And perhaps the sentiment was small, but the effect it had on her heart wasn't.

She calmed it, taking a deep breath. It was pointless to even think more on the subject. They weren't a thing. There was nothing there.

Regardless she didn't have time to explore her thoughts further, as an intrusive sense of queasiness ripped through her body. With a jolt she pried her hands off the sink and instead snapped to the toilet, hovering her head over it. With a forceful heave, and an unflattering noise, mistakes of the night before expelled out of her. In... chunks.

God, she was never going to drink again.

After refreshing herself with a cold and thorough shower, she dried herself and wrapped a towel around her body, turning the knob of the door to exit the damp room. She froze at the doorway when she saw Miguel enter the apartment, her spare keys jingling in his hands. He was in new clothes, ones that actually fit him nicely. Chino's and a polo shirt. But where had he got them from?

Both stood dumbfounded as their eyes met, surprised at each other's appearance. Miguel grunted as he looked away, avoiding his eyes from Lori's nearly bare attire. She stiffened at the haste of his action, reminding her of their conversation the night before.