When Stars Collide (Second Chance Romance #2) - Sara Furlong-Burr Page 0,31

in Luke’s bed, but also because I couldn’t shut my mind off. Granted, I was three sheets to the wind and my mind always raced about haphazardly like a toddler in a candy store whenever I drank too much, but somehow it was different that night. Because no matter how many thoughts bounced around inside of my head, I always came back to one.

Peter Monroe.

Was he also wide awake in bed thinking about me? Was he mulling over what had transpired between us tonight just as much as I was? Or was he fast asleep, satisfied with himself after successfully fending off yet another female admirer’s affections?

No. Remember what he told you.

What did he tell me?

Shit. Help me out here, Sober Mena.

Go screw yourself.

As hard as I tried to commit the night to memory, it was slowly slipping away with each minute I inched back toward sobriety. Like sand in an hourglass, my memories from the night were disappearing rapidly. By morning, they may be gone forever, which meant for the rest of the night, I had to put up a valiant effort to retain every detail of my time with Peter Monroe. Every look, every touch, every kiss. Surely if I thought about him and how he made me feel, really concentrated hard, that would be enough, wouldn’t it?

Despite my best efforts to win the battle against sleep, exhaustion and the alcohol inevitably won the war, and it wasn’t long before I shut my eyes for the rest of the night.

Sunlight crawled through the blinds and made its way to my face the next morning, waking me. At first, I had forgotten where I was, but then I gradually regained my bearings and started to remember that I had stayed at Peter and Luke’s. A stirring from down the hall told me that Peter was awake, too. With a yawn, I extracted myself from Luke’s bed and ambled down the hall in the direction of the noise Peter was making.

“Good morning,” he greeted me. “What’s left of it, anyway.”

“No matter how many times it’s said to me, I will never acknowledge a morning as being good in any way.”

“Heh, I could drink to that.” He held up a mug of what I could only assume was coffee. “Bet you couldn’t, though.”

“Actually, I probably could if I really wanted to. My liver has been thoroughly conditioned since I turned twenty-one—and maybe somewhat before then.”

“Want any breakfast? I have cereal … and cereal.”

“Hmm, so many choices. I’ll take the cereal.”

“Excellent choice.” He pulled a bag out of the cabinet and tossed it on the counter while he rummaged through another cabinet for a bowl.

“What, you couldn’t splurge on the name brand stuff?”

“I could, but then I may have to cut back on things like Cheetos, and I’m not prepared for that level of sacrifice just yet. Besides, I personally feel the generic brand cereals taste better.”

“Given the décor in this place, I don’t think it needs to be said that your sense of taste of any kind is seriously compromised.”

“Just eat your degerminated yellow corn flour, soluble corn fiber, and hydrogenated vegetable oil and get out of my apartment.” Smiling, he set a bowl he’d filled with colorful Os’ down on the counter in front of me with a gallon of milk.

“Is that any way to treat a guest?”

“When she’s being insufferable, it is.”

I flipped him off as I poured milk into the bowl, watching him load dirty dishes from the sink into the dishwasher. While he worked, bits and pieces from the night before flashed through my head: his touch, our kiss, the way he looked at me. And, especially, what he’d said to me.

‘… if you remember any of this tomorrow morning, and you can honestly look me in the eye and tell me that you still feel the same way, then you’ll have me in whatever way you want me …’

He’d given me an out. Taking my state of inebriation into account, he’d figured that was the only reason why I was into him, and so he put the ball in my court. He wanted to know that any decision that was made to sleep together was made by me to avoid the awkwardness. Peter Monroe was one of the rare good ones I’d encountered since moving to Virginia.

“I remember everything.”

He paused, silverware resting between his fingers. Maybe he was waiting for me to say something further and that’s why he didn’t bother to turn around or even