Pretty When We Fall

7 - Keep The Shirt

Scarlet Collins

I stumbled down the hallway with the elegance of a baby deer learning to walk. Except this baby deer was drunk, barefoot, and attempting to bite Nicholas Owens's finger.

"Shhh!" he hissed for the seventh time, pressing a finger to my lips - and his own.

I giggled and, without hesitation, tried to bite it off.

Nick recoiled. "Jesus. You're like a piranha in lip gloss."

I ignored him and dropped to my knees outside my dorm room, rummaging through my bag with absolutely no strategy or grace.

"My key... my key... I swear I packed it. Or maybe it's in my bra?"

"It's not," Nick muttered, already fishing his own key from his pocket. "Get up. You're not sleeping in the hallway."

He crossed the corridor, unlocked his door with that annoying casual ease, and glanced back at me. "Come on."

I shoved everything back into my bag - give or take a rogue mascara wand - and staggered to my feet, muttering curses to myself. My balance was nonexistent. My dignity? On life support.

Nick held the door open until I passed through, then shut it behind me.

"You can crash here," he said, pointing to his bed like he was doing me a favour and not... letting me into his bed. "Emmy or Meghan probably have your key. Grab a t-shirt if you want. Top drawer."

"I would, but..." I flopped face-down onto his mattress. "That would require movement."

I felt the bed dip beside me as he crouched down. "Damn, you look awful."

"Gee, thanks."

He didn't argue. Just tossed a t-shirt into the en suite and set a glass of water on the nightstand, along with two painkillers.

"You can change in the bathroom. Don't lock the door - you'll trap yourself in there and I'm not kicking it down for you."

I grumbled something unintelligible and dragged myself up. Inside the bathroom, I squinted against the light and cracked open one of the drawers for a toothbrush.

Instead, I found a box of condoms.

I blinked.

Of course he stocked them like a fucking vending machine. Did he think he was going to have a queue of girls lined up outside, taking tickets?

I shoved the drawer shut with a bit more force than necessary and yanked his t-shirt over my head. It was huge. And soft. And smelled like him.

I hated that I noticed that.

"Night," I muttered as I crawled back into bed.

"Good night, Gorgeous," he said, sounding far too smug for someone with a bedside condom stash.

———

The next morning hit me like a brick to the skull. The pounding in my head was relentless. My mouth felt like sandpaper. My memory? Patchy, at best.

I sat up, squinting against the light, and reached for the glass of water on the nightstand. Beside it was a note scrawled in Nick's handwriting:

Emmy dropped your keys round.
the shirt is all yours - Nick

I stared at the paper. Then the shirt. Then the room.

Oh my god.

I was in Nick's bed. In Nick's shirt.