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Hungover
I woke up the next day, my head pounding out a steady rhythm that bit with a nasty throb. Stretching out my aching muscles, the memories of last night came flooding back and my face flushed red hot when Blake came in with breakfast. I had been rather forward, once influenced by the wine, letting other uncensored parts of my mind take control. I would never let that happen again, and now I felt utterly embarrassed and ashamed.
“Morning,” I mumbled softly as he closed the door with a quiet thud. Unfortunately to me, the soft thud sounded more like an explosion. I winced, my eyes squeezing shut tightly.
When the pain had subsided somewhat, I rubbed my temples softly and slowly, making the ache seem more like a dull pain. Long sleeves blocked my view of Blake and my mind reeled for a moment. I looked down at his crinkled shirt that hung off my body like a bed sheet. I ran a hand through my hair frustrated until other patches of memory returned and my face flushed again.
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