Chapter 170: What am I doing in Grant's Hotel Room?

The stark white ceiling is too bright. Do hotel staff repaint it every year? It wouldn't surprise me if they did. The bright morning sun reflects off the white surface. The thick curtains used by normal people to block out the morning light hang open and I roll over to try and hide from the sunny rays. My stomach rumbles as I bury my head in the pillow.

If I didn't know better, I'd think I had a hangover.

But all the choices I made last night were with a straight head. The vodka I consumed earlier in the evening had burned out of my system long before we reached this hotel room. If I'm suffering from a hangover, it's the emotional kind.

Grant pulls on the covers, and a short snore escapes between his lips as he rolls further away. The loss of his body steals my warmth with him. I'm too old to continue playing this game. What in the hell am I doing in Grant Moore's hotel room?

Again.

I roll to my back and stare up at the ceiling resigned to the fact I'm awake.

This.