* * * *
Jacob wakes with a headache and a cottony taste in his mouth. He grimaces as he looks around at the unfamiliar room, dimly lit by the morning sun that peeks through the closed blinds. He doesn’t remember where he is.
Beside him someone draws a long, shuddery breath. Avery.
He glances over his shoulder, only to find himself in Avery’s arms. Jacob looks at the shadows cast on Avery’s cheeks by his eyelashes, the pale skin, the pinked lips, and it all comes back in a rush. The party. Parker. The beer. The guy who hit on him, the one Avery called Tyrone. The kisses. Avery’s hands on his body, the kisses, the press of Avery’s crotch against his own. How could he have forgotten that? Just thinking about it again makes him tingle.
Avery’s head is buried against his back. When he rolls over, Avery’s arms tighten around him, like he’s an anchor and the only thing Avery holds onto. They’re so close, he’s breathing Avery’s breath.