Chosen

5

Hey, I'm back on Wattpad! Please let me know if you have any suggestions or requests to write or work on. Many updates coming soon! Please enjoy this chapter and many more to come. Thank you so much!!

*****

I awoke, the sun shining through the small window in the upstairs loft. I feel warm, and I have a slight headache from all the drinking we did last night. I almost forget where I am and jump in shock at the realization of my position.

Scott's arm is draped across my waist. His hand is...well...

I feel my face flush and look down at the placement of Scott's hand as it had drifted slightly south from my waist. I try to remain calm and settle back into him, as I can feel his back and the beating of his steady heart.

He is still sound asleep. For him to be drunk, though? At his size? I don't think he drank enough. No, he had to. Maybe I didn't remember how much he drank because I was intoxicated myself?

Suddenly my slight alcohol intolerance hits me and I feel a burning in my throat. I leap up out of bed and run down the little stairs of the loft. I hurriedly scan the room, looking for a bathroom. Finally I see Kirstie sleeping in her bed through the door of her bedroom, and the room adjacent is the bathroom. I rush over to the bathroom and shut the door behind me. I quickly get down on my knees and throw up the drinks I had last night. I remember the events of yesterday vaguely.

Last night, around 10:45 p.m.

"Come on, Mitch just try it!" Scott purrs, drinking his favored margarita. "Here just lean back," he says, placing the glass against my lips and tilting it back slightly, his left hand holding my chin and cheek. I feel the smooth liquid line my throat, its sweet and tangy flavors intermingled with lime.

"I love it," I mumble, after swallowing the drink.

"Here, have some Chardonnay, I got it for free from the guy across the way. See him at that table? He told me it was for you," Scott sings sweetly, his baritone voice rumbling through tipsy murmurs and mumbles.

"Okay," I say, and Scott puts the glass to my mouth to give me a drink, like I can't do it myself.

"How's that taste?"

"You know, I've had Chardonnay before, and I know how to drink out of a glass," I say, ignorantly. My words lack the charm I was used to speaking, but mainly that was my intoxicated ego yammering. Scott lets out a small seductive chuckle before responding.

"You sure loose your formality when you drink," he whispers loosely, eyes locked in mine, the little blue waves crashing on the shores of the edge of his irises. "And I don't hate that," he continues, lips parting as he eyes me.

"You...like that?" I stammer. I never knew being informal was attractive. I thought knowledge was power.

"Yes, I like it when you break character," the blond says colorfully, full of emotions that usually stay beneath the surface of socializing. At least where I am from they did..or do. I can't think straight any longer.

"Mmm," I mumble in response, sipping my complimentary Chardonnay as I look over at the man who was responsible. I only peer over at him, as if to silently say a small 'thanks' of gratitude. He stares quietly at me, and smirks while drinking his whiskey. I anchor my head back to the right to face Scott.

"Well, what do you think of him?" I set down my glass and twirl it between my two hands slowly.

"Honestly, he's quite scary. All those tattoos and such. And the look on his face, if looks could kill. He looks like he views sleep as a waste of time." I move my eyes over towards the burly man: brown hair tied in a bun behind his head, facial hair covering his upper lip, chin, and jaw line, strong muscles almost too large for his tight grey shirt.