Can You Keep A Secret

There’s nothing more difficult in this world than trying to open mascara-glued eyelashes after a night of drinking. I had to reach my hand out of the warm covers I was underneath in order to peel some of the sticky black paint off.

Finally prying them open with what little strength my face muscles had at the moment, a blurry gray wall with posters of Peyton Manning and Tom Brady slowly came into focus. Despite my eyes still tender from being sewn shut all night, they snapped open at the images before me.

It was a view I had seen far too many times after a night of way too much alcohol—and the start of a day that would be full of regretful flashbacks.

Fuck.

Sure enough, I was naked and sure enough, my body was hidden underneath a blue quilt.

A blue quilt I recently told myself I would not be under again.

I couldn’t turn from my side onto my back because just behind me I heard the snoring boy invading my personal space. His forearm rested in the crevasse between my ribs and my hip and his fingers gently brushed up against my bare stomach.

I didn’t like cuddling. I didn’t particularly care for any type of emotionally intimate touching for that matter. I always had the urge to go home after we had finished, yet time and time again I was convinced to stay because I was usually far too drunk to find a way home safe.

Well, if we’re being honest, I was typically just too tired. And Spencer’s bed was very comfy.

Ever so slightly I maneuvered my body closer and closer to the edge of the bed and began to tip forward. All that was touching me now was his palm. I took a deep breath, readying myself to make my first big move by placing my feet on the floor.

I should’ve known better than to take such a large, loud breath. Spencer Ross was a ridiculously light sleeper, which made escaping all the more difficult.

I heard him inhale behind me, his body coming back to life. His palm shifted against my skin and I knew that he was awake.

Fuck.

I gave in to the fact that my plan was now compromised. Unfortunately for me, my body had still been tipping forward and after losing my focus, gravity won.

His bed wasn’t that high up, so it wasn’t a long fall to the ground. It sure as hell felt like it though. The impact made my already throbbing head feel like I had been whiplashed. I snapped my eyes shut. Maybe I could pretend I was still sleeping?

“Oh shit,” I heard his deep, rough voice.

It made me genuinely angry how hot his voice was. That voice could get me to do just about anything when I was drunk. Even sober it was sometimes hard to resist.

I heard the mattress shift and felt a pair of eyes on the side of my head. “You okay?”

Fuck.

Game over. Sadly, I opened my eyes and looked up at him. His overwhelmingly defined, chiseled face stuck out in the morning light. Why was he such a light sleeper?

I forced my hands to support me as got into a sitting position, pulling knees to my chest to cover myself up a little. Running a hand through my blonde hair, catching quite a few rats nests along the way, I groaned out a, “Yeah.”

Spencer laughed—which was also hot as hell, for the record—and I gave him an annoyed glare.

Still on the ground, I reached towards the end of his bed where my clothes laid in a disheveled pile. I could feel Spencer watching me, but he didn’t say a word until my bra was completely snapped back on.

“Where’re you going?”

Throwing the very low cut crop top I had worn last night over my head, I replied, “Home.”

He stayed silent again as I skillfully slipped on my underwear and jeans. All that was left was my little black purse. I grabbed it and stood, pulling my phone out.

“How’re you getting there?”

I had multiple text messages.

After a night of drinking, that was never a good sign.

I ignored them for the time being and opened up a new message. Nonchalantly I informed Spencer, “Rachel.”

I heard him get out of bed and begin rummaging through his clothes. As I typed out the SOS message to one of my best friends, Spencer said exactly what I had been praying he wouldn’t say.

“I can drive you.”

“That’s really okay,” I responded quickly, somehow managing to keep my voice even.

Just as I was about to press send, he was next to me, plucking the phone from my fingers. My jaw dropped a little as I now looked at a fully clothed Spencer, grinning and holding my phone as he locked it, turning the screen black.

He closed the space between us a bit so we were almost touching. “Exactly. It’s really okay if I just drive you.”

He bent his head down and I could tell he was going in for a kiss—probably trying to make me take off my clothes again. But I simply stepped to the side and out of his path, heading straight for his bedroom door.

“Fine,” I said calmly. I was halfway down the staircase of his house when I heard his footsteps catch up behind me.

“Do you want some Advil or water or anything?” he asked. But he probably already knew the answer. He asked this every time.

And every time, I always said, “I’m good.”

Once we were both settled in the driver and passenger seats of Spencer’s black BMW, he set my phone down in the center console. I snatched it up immediately and placed it in my purse, which was resting in my lap.

“You’re always in such a rush,” Spencer commented as he turned the key in the ignition.

“My mom’s expecting me home,” I lied.

My mom had given up on trying to enforce a curfew years ago. Spencer didn’t need to know that though.

“Ah,” he said and my muscles disobeyed my mind as they clenched in desire at the sound his voice made—a rumble from somewhere deep in his chest. “What’re you doing tonight?”

“I don’t know,” I said and restrained myself from rolling my eyes. I woke up fifteen minutes ago, how the hell was I supposed to know what I was doing twelve hours from now.

I immediately scolded myself though. This was a completed justified and normal question. Most people make Saturday night plans ahead of time.

I knew if it had been anyone else asking, my internal reaction would’ve been different.

I glanced at Spencer in my periphery. He was in the midst of a yawn, his chin crumpled against his neck, and he still looked hot.

Once his mouth was closed again, he placed his arm on the center console, his forearm brushing lightly against my elbow which had been resting there. “I think Blake is having a few people over.”

I just shrugged. Right now, the thought of drinking with this hangover made my stomach turn.

I was grateful when Spencer reached forward and turned on the radio so it wasn’t completely silent when neither of us were talking. Slowly but surely, we made our way closer to my house.

When he finally turned onto my street, I let out a quiet sigh of relief. But as we approached my house, multiple U-Haul vans came into view, blocking part of the street.

“Damn, what’s going on?” Spencer asked.

I began to shake my head, preparing myself to say ‘I don’t know,’ but then it clicked. Someone was finally moving into the house across the street from mine.

An old couple lived there for a long time—the Boyle’s. Mr. Boyle passed away about 3 months ago. A little over a month ago, not wanting to stay in the house, Mrs. Boyle moved into a nursing home. I wasn’t expecting someone to buy it so fast.

I finally answered Spencer, “I guess I have new neighbors.”

Spencer slowed the car as he came to the side of the U-Hauls so he didn’t hit some of the movers that were bustling around the trucks.

One guy in particular stuck out though. He wasn’t wearing the t-shirt of the moving company.

He definitely looked about my age.

He had chocolate brown hair, clean on the sides but a little long on the top of his head, which gave it a nice, natural but messy flow—my favorite.

Spencer had a similar haircut except he kept it longer on the sides of his face, giving his damn hair gel plenty to work with. The douche-y way he styled his hair was probably the thing that annoyed me the most about him.

Well, that and the fact that drunk me had no self-control around him.

My new neighbor, however, had impressively good hair. And hair was important to me. He was attractive no doubt. But you could tell by his posture and body language that he wasn’t very confident.

I wasn’t particularly fond of insecure guys, so I immediately marked him down a few points there. Still, there was potential.

God, I’m such a fucking bitch.

It was only until Spencer’s car was just nearing him that he finally turned to look at us.

I don’t know exactly what I was expecting, but I was immediately intrigued.

He had a mature bone structure, a distinct jawline and chin. Yet there was something about him that made him look so boyish. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. He looked innocent in a way. Maybe even vulnerable.

The weirdest part of it all, though, was the contradictory look in his eyes. So intent that I forgot to breathe with just one look. Those eyes were anything but innocent. And within one moment of him staring straight at me, I felt like he had seen straight through me.

I was grateful when Spencer finally turned into my driveway, now leaving my new neighbor behind us. When the car finally came to a halt, I grasped my purse in my lap and hastily pushed open the car door.

“Thanks for the ride.”

As I made a move to climb out, Spencer’s fingers latched onto my bicep, stopping me. I sighed in the back of my throat, knowing I had no choice but to turn and look at him. He immediately focused in on my lips. In almost a scolding voice he said, “hey,” and tugged me closer to him.

For the sake of avoiding awkwardness or a confrontation, I let him lean over and press his lips against mine. I was hoping he would just give me a quick goodbye peck, but he kissed me harder than I expected and lingered. I pulled away, kind of hoping I hadn’t been rude but also kind of hoping he would get the picture.

His hand let my arm go this time as I slipped out of his car. “Thanks again.”

“I’ll text you about ton—” he started, but I closed the passenger door before he could finish.

His car kept idling behind me as I walked towards the front door of my house. I kept waiting to hear the sound of his tires against the pavement, but he wasn’t leaving.

This time I let my sigh out and turned my head back to look at him. As I expected, he was watching me. With a tight smile, I gave him a half wave—almost like a salute. Please leave now.

Thankfully I saw his right arm change gears and was relieved when I heard his car reversing out of my driveway as I finally reached my front door. I got my keys out of my purse and almost began to unlock the door. But I hesitated.

Curiosity got the best of me.

I peered behind me and there he was. A man in one of the U-Haul trucks was handing him a medium cardboard box. It looked heavy because they were both careful during the handoff. He took his time as he gently placed it on the ground.

When he stood back up, he looked in my direction and we found ourselves staring at each other. Only for a moment though because I sharply looked away, a little embarrassed I had been caught watching him.

Typically I caught guys gaping at me. Not me gaping at them.

He’s not even that hot. That’s what the voice in my head told me as I easily unlocked the front door and went inside.

That boy—whoever he was—wasn’t important right now. I needed to cure this hangover.

My best friends and I made up an acronym for just how we do it. WASS—water, Advil, shower, sleep.

And that’s exactly what I planned to do.