Melting - Sean Ashcroft

1

Wes

This was not my bed.

The sheets were a different color, for a start—I was pretty sure I didn’t own anything in beige. The light from the window was hitting me a different way, coming in directly instead of being diffused by the shade of the big maple outside of my window.

Definitely not my bed.

The mattress shifted under me as someone else rolled over.

Right. Obviously. Not my bed meant it belonged to someone else. Stray beds weren’t a thing, and neither were stray bedrooms.

I forced my eyes open and turned my head, fighting back a groan over the stiffness.

Twenty-nine was too young to have neck pain from lying in bed wrong. I was getting old before my time.

Maybe not so old, considering the hot little rush of tingles flowing south at the sight of the very nice stretch of skin occupying the rest of the bed. Deep outdoorsy tan leading up to a mop of straw-blond hair and down to a perky ass that looked like I could’ve bounced a penny off it.

Name.

What… what was Mr. Golden Blond’s name?

Shit.

He rolled over and blinked sleepily at me with pool-bottom-blue eyes, pretty lips stretching into a smile.

I really needed a name.

Dammit.

Come on, brain.

I must have asked. I must have asked, right?

Wouldn’t have been the first time you didn’t, a voice in the back of my head pointed out.

Rude.

“Hi,” my mystery man said, all sleep-rough voice and tousled hair.

My dick twitched, because it was a filthy traitor determined to get me in trouble.

“Hi,” I responded, wondering if I could get away with this. He was hot, but he wasn’t the love of my life or anything. Maybe he didn’t need to have a name. Maybe I could just leave without ever making it obvious that if I’d ever known his name, I’d already forgotten it.

“You’re cute in the light of day,” he added. “That’s a nice surprise.”

“I wasn’t cute last night?”

Goldie—which was his name now—chuckled. “You were cute, I was drunk, it was dark.” He shrugged. “You know how it is.”

Yeah. Yeah, I knew how it was, and the headache I was just starting to notice behind my eyes was about to remind me how it was all day.

“So,” Goldie purred, reaching out to run his fingertips down from my chest to my stomach, tickling my treasure trail and making all kinds of promises. “I was planning to kick you out first thing, but…”

Judging by the way my dick rose to the occasion, it clearly thought this was a good idea. The rest of me was too slow to decide right now.

Did I really want to fuck a man whose name I didn’t know when I was more or less sober? One thing to have a drunken hookup or two.

Or ten.

Another to forget the poor dude’s name and get off anyway.

A muffled beeping coming from somewhere on the floor rescued me before I had to make a decision.

“Sorry.” I smiled wryly at him. He was hot, but I had places to be.

A low whistle followed me as I rolled out of bed. “This is a good angle for you.”

“Do not take a picture,” I said. This was awkward enough without photographic evidence existing.

I wished, as I bent down to grab my discarded jeans, that my dick also felt this was too awkward to be sexy.

“Shit,” I said, squinting at my phone in the harsh, unfiltered sunlight. “This is my second alarm.”

“Oh, yeah,” Goldie said. “Heard it earlier, ignored it and went back to sleep.”

“Why didn’t you—” I cut myself off. He had no reason to be responsible for me, and there was no point yelling at him over it.

“Didn’t know it was important.” Goldie shrugged, face falling.

“Look, I gotta go,” I said, trying to sound soothing. Bad enough having a reputation for being an easy hookup, adding that I was mean in the morning wouldn’t help me at all. “But uh. It was nice to meet you?”

Goldie snorted. “Go do whatever it is you do,” he said. “With my thanks for the orgasms.”

“Always happy to provide a couple of good orgasms,” I said, pulling on yesterday’s underwear with a wince. Great. Who knew when I’d have a chance to change?

“Have an awesome day,” I added, shoving my phone back in my pocket and buttoning my jeans as I headed for the door, hoping like hell that I wasn’t too far from home.

By the time I pulled up back home, my headache had reached splitting, and I was about ready to swear off boys and booze

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