Luca Chessman has been longing for love his entire life. The only problem is-he can't seem to find a guy that likes him the same way.
With his family cafe, Chessman's, struggling to keep afloat and no help from the bank, he's slowly accepting the d...
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Hangovers definitely get worse with age. That's coming from someone who is twenty-three.
God help me when I'm in my thirties.
My mouth is dry and I'm certain I didn't drink a single drop of water last night. I've only got myself to blame. I shift in the sheets and wince at the pain that lingers between my brows. I haven't plucked up the courage to open my eyes yet. I know I'm going to be blinded by the light when I do.
I continue shuffling, my arms moving around me. The bed is empty.
That has my eyes open. I grunt at the agony inside my head as I glance around the room. Declan's room.
Shit. All the memories come flooding back. My hand raises to rub my eyes, I feel my palm brush against my eyebrow and I hiss. I blink once and then twice, focusing my vision to find a plaster over my skin. Ah, yes. I fell down those stupid stairs.
It certainly wouldn't be the first time.
But right now I'm more concerned about the part that Declan is nowhere to be seen. I frown and lean over to the bedside table and retrieve my phone, I have no messages at all.
I sigh and roll onto my back, staring up at the ceiling.
Declan's bed is comfortable. It smells like him. Clean like fresh laundry. It's even better than the spare bedroom. I have to admit. But then again, I'm biassed. I fucking slept in Declan's bed. Together.
After a few moments I roll out of bed slowly and stabilise myself on my feet. There is definitely still a drop of alcohol in my system, my body crying out for some water to dampen my mouth that feels like a thousand razor blades.
I glance over at the en-suite and poke my head inside to find it empty. My brows pinch even more. Where is he?
Instead of scoping out the rest of the house, I close the door and grab a cup before filling it with water and downing the entire thing. Then I empty my bladder because I have no idea how I held so much liquid in my body.
My eyes hesitantly stare at my reflection. Goodness. I look like a hot mess.
I open my mouth to close it. So do my eyes. I lower down to the floor and scout through the cupboards to find a spare toothbrush still in packaging. If I had even an ounce of energy, I'd be celebrating. But I grab it, rip it open and douse the brush in so much toothpaste that I wince when it touches my mouth.
Once my breath tastes better than a night out, I rub my eyes and head back into the bedroom. I don't have the confidence to go downstairs and look for Declan, I'm already embarrassed that he came to pick me up and I fell down a flight of stairs in front of him.
I stare at his bed and crawl back inside. I tug the sheets up to my chin and make sure that my back is facing the door. I could really do with some pancakes and a packet of paracetamol right about now.
