My True First [18+]

Chapter 12

I squinted at the bright sunlight flooding my bedroom through the semi-sheer white curtains. The pounding in my temples reminded me of last night, and the onslaught of memories that followed did nothing but worsen my headache.

My eyes flicked over the other side of my bed— the other, empty one.

It wasn't empty last night.

Liam was there, with his lean body and warm hands that explored every inch of my back.

Liam, who kissed my cheek as we swayed to the slow song he chose and held me in the candle-lit room. Liam, who danced with me at the gala and kissed my hand.

Liam, who left the bed before I woke up, surely feeling awkward because of having spent the night with the girl who chugged shots of cognac and liquor as if they were water and pathetically asked him to sleep with her.

Groaning, I buried my face in my pillow, trying to blunt the feeling of shame and regret. What I said to Liam reeked of desperation, and I couldn't even blame it on alcohol. I wasn't drunk. Tipsy, yes, but not drunk.

A glance at the clock told me it was already late. Antoine's mom would drop Tim off at home soon. I needed to make myself look somewhat presentable before facing the kid who seemed to see right through me.

A quick, scorching shower later, I was ready to see Liam.

I found him in the kitchen, making breakfast, already dressed for the day. 

"Hey," I greeted him, pasting a broad smile on my face. "What are you making?"

Liam's eyes flicked over me. "Hey, Sky. Just an omelet. I hope you like it. Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah, thanks. You?"

"Good. My head hurts, but that's understandable after everything we'd drunk. I tidied up the living room. Oh, and Aiden texted. He and Ellie want to go to the mall later today. They need a car, so I said we'd tag along once Tim is here unless you don't want to go."

Bowing out of it was too tempting, but I also wanted a distraction from every minute detail of the sleepover fiasco that rattled my brain. I'd rather see Ellie and indulge in girly gossip than stay in and wallow in my pity.

"Okay." I shrugged.

"Right. If you have a headache, I put some aspirin on the kitchen table."

"I wasn't that drunk, Liam."

"Okay. The breakfast is almost ready."

"I'm not hungry."

"Sky—"

The doorbell saved us both from an awkward conversation, in which Liam would say he was sorry about last night, and I would feel like an idiot for asking a guy to spend the night with me just because I was feeling pathetic and lonely.