Living With Him

Eighteen: Not-So Hung Over

My eyes fluttered open as the sun sent billions of ray daggers down my face. I groaned before bringing as arm up to bury my face in the crook of my arm.

Who died and gave the sun permission to wake me up?

After removing the crust that formed in the corner of my eyes overnight, I decided to get up.

I was halfway through propping myself up when I noticed someone sleeping beside me from the corner of my eyes.

"Oh crap!" I whispered before slowly lying back down.

My eyes frantically looked around and realized that I was still at the Northman's beach house. As my eyes wandered, my attention was caught by my dress that neatly hangs by a wooden chair, and my bra, panties and shorts are folded neatly on the green floral cushion of said chair. My flats are laid neatly on the floor below it, as if saying 'Good morning bitch. Have you noticed something yet?'

I felt my eyes bulge at the sudden thought and pulled the blanket up.

Oh good, I'm not naked. I sent out a breath of relief. But wait whose—it's black. I cut my thoughts off. It's my employer's.

My employer's...

When the mattress beneath me dipped a bit, I quickly shut my eyes closed to pretend I'm still sleeping before peeking a little at the figure beside me as soon as I knew he was still asleep.

My employer's back is turned towards me—and by back, I meant bare back. As in he's topless?

I swallowed the sudden lump that formed in my throat before lifting the blanket (that's we're sharing by the way) that's covering his lower body parts. As soon as I saw a fabric, I pulled the blanket down once more, making sure that I don't wake him up.

I looked at his back once more and I couldn't help but raise my brows in an admiring manner. Like admiring a piece of art in a museum or something sort of admiring. Don't get any ideas that I'm actually feeling some sort of special admiration for my employer.

But man, I mean, who wouldn't be impressed? Even when he's sleeping—and I'm sure everyone's relaxed when they're sleeping—his back looks like it's flexing itself. I didn't notice it yesterday, but up close it's like of those marble statues of Greek gods I saw in a museum once. I didn't know backs like these exist in real life. But shouldn't it be illegal to own such glorious backs?

Wait. Stop. George, stop for a while.

He's sleeping half naked beside you and you're... I slipped my hands quickly down my thighs and—whose panties are these? I didn't bring any clothes yesterday with me. Who dressed me?

What the hell happened last night? Why is my subconscious so quiet? Hello?

I squeezed my eyes shut again as I thought about last night's events. What happened last night? The last thing I remember was hanging out with Gabe and drinking something he gave me. He said it's not drugged. What was in that drink? Oh right...alcohol. Damn! I got drunk last night!?

I looked at my employer again who's still breathing steadily with his glorious Greek god-like back facing me saying, 'Hello there, lick me.'

I looked at the nightstand near me and saw my phone with another phone—must be my employer's—a glass, pitcher and some medicine. So I was drunk last night.

Here's the thing about me when I'm drunk—according to Audrey: if you offer me another drink when already drunk, I will still drink that so stop me; I will start saying the weirdest shit (whatever that is, I don't know); after I throw up, I'll start having a headache and beg for you to let me sleep and when I do let me; the next day, don't bother because I won't have any hang over-like symptoms like headache but I won't remember anything that happened the night before after I get drunk.