“Adam?” she whispers, her voice hoarse, her throat scratchy.
He moans at the sound of her voice and wraps his arm back around her waist.
“Adam?” she says again, a little more loudly.
Adam stifles a yawn. “What Sarah?”
“Last night?” she begins, embarrassed that her memory fails her, “How?” she hesitates, “What?”
Adam nuzzles into her hair. “I brought you home. You asked me to stay. I couldn’t resist.”
Horror fills her. Her body tenses. “Nothing happened Sarah,” he says before she can ask, “you had too much to drink. I’d rather you be sober and remember everything.”
“So we didn’t.”
“No, we didn’t,” Adam interrupts her. He feels the air leave her as her body relaxes. “How’s your head?”
“Hurts,” she says.
“Well, the best cure,” he can’t help but smile when she tenses up with nerves immediately, “is a nice hot shower.”
“Oh,” she whispers.
“I’ll make breakfast while you’re in there.
“Okay.” She tries to swing her foot over the edge of the bed, but is pinned by the comforter. “I can’t get out Adam.”
Adam laughs, “Sorry.”
His movement causes sharp little stabs of pain in her head. Wincing, she takes a deep breath before trying to move again. Adam jumps out of bed. Watching him move around her room makes her dizzy. He kisses her on the forehead before he leaves the room.
‘Oh thank God,’ she thinks, grateful to be left alone.
‘Ask him to leave and pull the covers back over your head,’ the mother hen squawks.
With her head in her hands, she balances herself on the edge of her bed. The room stops spinning. With a grunt, Sarah stands up and gets herself into the shower.
“Do you want the last cup?” Sarah asks, lifting up the little coffee pot to Adam.
“No,” he smiles at her, “You go ahead.”
Without hesitating, she pours the last of the coffee into her mug. Gulping down the coffee, she says “Maybe some fresh air will help.”
“You ready to go out?”
“Okay,” Adam says.
(c) Rachel Rennie