Change Rein - Anne Jolin Page 0,53

do, I think to myself and make my way out of the bedroom to find my boyfriend.

I round the corner to the kitchen and smile when I see Jackson. He is beautiful. Tall and lean with dark-brown hair just long enough to run your fingers through. He’s busy talking about the new Call of Duty with a group of guys I don’t recognize. He tosses me a goofy drunk grin as I get closer and pulls me to stand in front of him, wrapping his tattooed arms around my shoulders.

He leans down to kiss me on the cheek and whispers, “Missed you, baby,” before turning his attention back to the conversation.

As I pretend to listen to the boys talk about the most efficient ways to decapitate a zombie, I let my gaze drag across the living room. Before I even saw him, I could feel him. When his eyes meet mine, I shiver. I knew in my soul that this boy was as dangerous as a high-rise-building fire.

Mama said that you shouldn’t play with fire or you’ll get burnt, and I, Hannah Rhodes, have no intention of running into that fire. Ever.

Six Months Later

OH GOD. THIS is it. I’m dead. My tombstone is actually going to read ‘Te-kill-ya, it killed her.’ I never should have let the girls convince me that breakup drinking was a good idea. When is drinking ever a good idea? Ugh. I’m never drinking again. Lying on my side, I’m attempting to work up the courage to open my eyes and suffer the light of day. Okay, I can do this. I can open my eyes. I’m thirsty and I need to pee. This has to happen. Wake up, Hannah! Little mental pep talk over with, I decide to take the plunge. I start with squinting open my left eye and then slowly my right. I’m momentarily blinded by the sunlight streaming in from the window above the bed. Wait. What? I don’t have a window above my bed. My eyes fly open, much to the dismay of my pounding head and I start to take in my surroundings.

The first thing I notice is a large framed poster of Parkway Drive, the Australian metal-core band, hanging on the wall. Next to it, a tall, black dresser with an array of colognes strewn across the top and in the corner is what seems to be an old acoustic guitar. I don’t know this room. Fuck, I think I’ve officially screwed up something fierce. I groan out loud, and my mental ass-whooping comes to an abrupt halt when the arm underneath my head moves. Oh my God. An arm! A muscular, tattooed arm is under my head. I take a deep breath and begin a quick inventory of my clothing—or, in this case, my lack thereof. I’m naked. Great! Good job, Hannah. You’ve been single for barely a month and you’ve already landed your first one-night stand.

Operation Get Out of Dodge starts now! I slowly roll onto my stomach, and by slow, I mean a turtle could do this faster, shell and all, but I do not by any means want to wake up the owner of that arm anytime soon. Once I’m on my stomach, I steal a quick glance at him. He’s lying on his back, head facing away from me and the sheets are lying dangerously low on his hips. Well, looks like he’s naked too! I’m giving myself another mental chastising for my naughty shenanigans when he shifts in his sleep and the sheet inches lower. My mouth goes dry. I’ve lost all train of thought and I can’t help but stare. His body is stunning. A beautiful red-haired siren sitting on a rock in the water is artfully covering the left side of his torso and across the entire width of his chest, a menacing lion stakes its claim. I move my way down his body, his chest rising and falling slowly, and take in his chiseled abdomen. He looks powerful, even in his sleep, much like I imagine the predator tattooed on his chest would look like in real life. I take one last look at the sexy V leading beneath the sheets and sigh. He has the V... I smile at myself and dish out a mental high five. The owner of the arm is incredibly good-looking.

All right, ogling time is over. Plus, ogling someone while they sleep seems kind of creepy, even if you have already slept with them (but don’t remember). I ease off the bed and decide that locating my phone seems like step number one because I have no idea where I am and I’m sure I didn’t drive here. I find my iPhone lying on the floor, half underneath the bed. Ignoring the missed messages lighting up the screen, I type out a quick text to my older sister, Beth.

Me: I need a ride. Can you pick me up? I’ll call you in ten minutes and let you know where to meet me.

Second step, clothing. Of course I couldn’t have worn a sundress or something so that I only had to locate one item. I have to be a lover of layers, although most Canadians are given that the weather changes every five minutes. After searching high and low, I’ve found my jeans, boots, left sock, bra, sweater and jacket. Still at large is my right sock and my shirt—whatever, I could do without those. Another two minutes and I’m dressed. I don’t think I’ve ever dressed myself that fast in my life. I’m more of a ‘rip everything out of the closet until my room looks like a bomb went off’ kind of girl. Step three, find Michael. There’s no way Michael is going to be collateral of my one-night stand with the owner of the arm, whether he’s delicious or not. I know what you’re thinking... No, Michael’s not a person; he’s my handbag. I’m actually not a very preppy girl, for lack of a better word, but since my cousin, Wyatt, came out of the closet a few years back, I’ve taken a major liking to designer handbags. The one currently evading me was my green Michael Kors hobo, and come hell or high water, I am not leaving this place without it.

I am checking behind a large, leather chair in the opposite corner when I hear shuffling across the room. Oh God, please don’t let the owner of the arm be awake, I think as I turn back towards the bed. My one-night stand shifted in his sleep, again, and is now lying on his side facing me. FUCK! Fuck, fuck, fuckidty, fuck! Screw Michael. I’m out of here. Right fucking now! I turn swiftly on the heel of my boot, ready to make a run for it, when I trip, sending my iPhone flying across the carpeted room. I send a panicked glance towards the bed. Still asleep. Whew! Man, someone’s looking out for me today, I think as I crawl towards my phone. Well, I thought wrong... I am no more than three feet from my phone when it starts to ring, loudly. Curse me and my stupid need to have everything at maximum volume all the time! I lunge for it, but in my haste, I only manage to send it flying farther away from me as my sister’s ringtone, “Let’s Get It On” by Marvin Gaye begins blaring from the tiny speakers. I’m going to kill Beth when I see her! Kill her right on the spot for choosing that terrible ringtone. I reach the phone and silence it. Still on my hands and knees, I look towards the bed, hoping the owner of the arm is a heavy sleeper. It was a false hope.

Looking back at me is a pair of pale-blue eyes I’ve only seen once before. Shit. I just had a one-night stand with the Charlie Hunnam lookalike.