Chapter 4
Jake sat on the cluttered floor a moment, head down, trying to find the strength to stand. He had to get dressed, then he’d go downstairs and take something for this damn head of his. Holly had a large bottle of aspirin she kept in one of the kitchen cabinets. He’d wash down four pills with some juice—that should knock the headache right out—then he’d check Holly’s room for his phone. It might be on her bedside table, or in her purse, or maybe in the living room. He’d look in her jacket, too.
Aspirin first, though. No, clothes first. He couldn’t go downstairs buck-ass naked, even if Holly was at church. What would she say if she came home to find him standing at the kitchen sink without a stitch of clothing on?
“God, my eyes!” would probably be her first response. Or she’d shriek his name. “Jake!” Her voice would rise enough octaves to stab at his brain, which hurt bad enough already.
Or, worse, she’d laugh. As much as he wanted some aspirin, Jake didn’t want to hear that