Nick
My eyes snapped open at six in the morning, and the very first thing I felt was a dull, heavy throbbing behind my temples.
I lay there on my back, staring up at the white ceiling of my bedroom, feeling like absolute garbage.
My mouth tasted like stale scotch, my throat was bone dry, and my brain was running through a hot, humiliating loop of everything that had happened at that godforsaken concert last night.
I didn't pass out until three in the morning. Three hours of tossing and turning, pouring half-glass after half-glass of liquor just to stop my head from playing back every second of the night.
'Why the hell did I act like that?'
That was the thought that had been eating a hole through my gut all night. I didn't care about Cyan. I didn't care who he flirted with, who he smiled at, or who he dragged into dark corners. He was a chaotic, restless nuisance, and I'd spent months keeping him at arm's length.
So why did I lose my mind when I saw his mouth on Mason's?
