Alex and you attended a work event for Alex at a club. You did not hold back on the amount you had to drink, but you wish you did - or at least have Alex or the bartender cut you off. You looked cute tonight, a dress that hugged you just right and it hit you about mid thigh. The bartender probably did not cut you off because of the way you looked - him thinking that he could get lucky with you at some point of the night. You end up dancing on the dance floor and becoming the center of attention by most guys at the club that night. Alex was too busy conversing with his co-workers to noticed that you got shit-faced and was now dancing - until one of his co-workers gestures to you.
"Is that your girl over that?"
"Yeah why?"
"Is she okay?"
"No dude, she's fine."
"Take a look for yourself."
The words that came from most guys mouths that night was "Somebody come get her." "She's dancing like a stripper." Alex was already bubbling mad at you, but realizing it is his fault afterwards for not really monitoring you all night - knowing you can get a bit out of hand. Alex had to go retrieve you from the dance floor, even though you tried to fight him. Alex had to leave his event early to get you home.
In the morning, all you feel is the warmth from the sunlight peaking through the blinds. You can already feel the headache throb horribly. You open your eyes and slowly pull yourself to a sitting position. You notice the ibuprofen bottle and a bottle of water on the bedside table. You are quick to open the bottles and grab ibuprofen from the one bottle and gobble down three pills. You also just sip your water till you were done with the bottle. You finally get up from the bed and follow the sweet smell of warm syrup - Alex must be cooking. You noticed that you were in your dress from last night still - God, you must had been so difficult that Alex did not even been bothered to undress you. You walk into the kitchen.
"Good morning," Alex says softly as he heard you walk into the kitchen.
"Morning," You speak, feeling sort of guilty about last night.
"You had fun last night?" His words a bit sarcastic.
"You know, I don't remember." You answer.
"You did. You drank... a lot. More than me."
"Yeah? My bad." You just smirk and felt more cocky.
"Yeah, and you danced like it was your job. I had to get you from the dance floor and we had to leave."
"Oh... I do feel bad about that."
"It's fine, they understood. You just owe me."
"Oh yeah? I owe you?"
