The Rule Book: A Novel

I jerk awake from that same damn dream of Derek kissing the woman in the hallway. My eyes fly open to a sunlit room—a direct contrast of the oppressive hallway. I’m dragging in breaths like I just ran a mile, and my face is slick with that familiar cold sweat. Just a dream. I blink at the ceiling as a headache powerful as a bolt of lightning strikes through my brain. Oof must keep eyes closed. How much did I drink last night?

A lot.

Like a lot, a lot.

Lying on my back seems to be intensifying the headache, so I try to roll onto my side. But I can’t because there’s a tree trunk holding me down. I swing my gaze to the right, and that’s when I realize I’m not alone. A man is in my bed. Oh god, not just any man. My ex-boyfriend turned ex-client is asleep beside me.

No, no, no. This is bad. Very bad.

Also very warm and snuggly. But no! Don’t think like that, Nora!

Derek’s big, heavy arm is draped over my midriff, and I can’t breathe. I give it a moment’s thought and decide I might be okay with being smothered to death so I don’t have to deal with whatever this is.

I reach back into the gin-soaked corners of my mind to figure out what events led to this big mistake. Yikes, it hurts to think. Like pounding, throbbing, stabbing sort of pain. The special brand of agony that follows an entire night of drinking and not eating enough or hydrating.

How does a person know if they have alcohol poisoning? Asking for a friend.

But seriously, how did this happen? I haven’t let go like that since—well, since I was last dating Derek. I should have known better. He always had a way of pulling me into his orbit of fun until I’m just flying round and round with my hands in the air like I just don’t care.

It appears we obliterated rule number fourteen: No drinking together.

I shut my eyes again and make a squeak of anguish before shoving my arm into Derek’s shoulder. “Hey! Wake up, you!”

He sucks in a breath like he was just resuscitated. “Huh?” Derek lifts his face long enough for me to see a pillow line slashing down the side of his cheek—almost making him look approachable rather than his usual hulking Thor vibes.

He groans, shoving his face back into the pillow, but doesn’t remove his arm. The man is sprawled out like an eagle in flight. A shirtless, freakishly toned eagle, and god he is a sight to behold. His body is impeccable. And somehow even more massive-looking with a sheet draped over his lower half. I’m surprised his arm hasn’t broken my rib cage.

Against my better judgment, my eyes trace the curves and hollows of the muscles lining his shoulders and back. The taut skin spreading over those muscles and the faded black tattoos dotting the expanse of his back and arms. And before I know it, I’m leaning toward the heat glowing from his body.

Oh my gosh, wait. Is he naked? Am I naked? This whole thing is going to become sixteen times more awkward if we have to be naked together while sober. It’s been a long time since that phenomenon has occurred with Derek. So long it’s practically like it never happened. Besides, we were young. Inexperienced.

I happen to know that the man lying beside me is not even in the same ballpark as inexperienced anymore. Nothing about him is like the gangly guy who sweetly took my virginity in college. It almost feels like waking up next to a stranger. And yet…familiar at the same time.

I do a quick pat-down of my body under the sheets, and thankfully, I seem to be fully clothed. Still wearing everything but my shoes. I’m nervous to peek under the covers at Derek, but I will because I’m a big girl and can do this.

If I had a breath to spare, I would sigh with relief at the sight of Derek’s dress pants hugging his lower half, but I don’t thanks to his heavy arm. Is it healthy for obliques to be that defined? I’m not sure you’re supposed to be able to see them while someone sleeps and yet, here we are.

I smack Derek’s boulder-filled arm a few times. “Derek. Move. I can’t breathe!”

He slides it off like he’s pulling it out of quicksand, and then flops over onto his back. Silence has never been louder as we stare at the ceiling. From the corner of my eye, I see his chest—so tan against the crisp white sheets—rising and falling. And I glimpse the tattoos there too, although I can’t get a good look at them from this angle. Something with wings for sure.

“Am I in your bed?” His voice is sandpaper. Sexy, sexy sandpaper.

I need to get out of these sheets.

“It would appear so.”

Silence again.

“That’s not good.”

“Not good at all.” I press the heels of my hands against my eyes, trying to relieve the pounding. “What do you remember?”

He groans, apparently feeling as wonderful as I do. “Not much after that first round of shots.” Like something hits him in the stomach, he jolts up. “Oh shit, cover your ears.”

Derek charges for the bathroom. Unfortunately, hearing his less than graceful consequences of too much alcohol has me catapulting after him.

“Move, move, move!” I yell as he flushes, and then I take over where he left off. Wonderful. Such a glorious morning. A beautiful day in the neighborhood!

The bright bathroom lights are harsh and the very necessary exhaust fan sounds like a jet engine. Derek turns on the sink faucet and leans over to rinse his mouth. I can’t even bring myself to care that he’s witnessing everything that’s happening to me right now or that I just witnessed it from him. We are in survival mode. I think I might be crying into the toilet bowl too.

What have I become?

Derek turns off the water and shifts behind me. I’m too concerned with the state of my stomach to wonder what he’s doing back there until I feel his hands on my neck. My gin-soaked brain thinks he might be on the brink of strangling me to escape any consequences from last night. But no…he’s just gathering my hair back and placing a cool cloth against my overheated skin. The sweetness of it doubles my tears.

“What are you doing?” I sit back on my heels and rip off a square of gritty-thin toilet paper and swipe it across my mouth.

“I didn’t want you to get puke in your hair.”

Now my tears triple. They’re fountains, leaking down my face and tasting a little too much like mascara and gin.

I’m in a daze as I watch Derek find an elastic and then gently work his fingers through my hair, braiding it back until he gets to the end and secures it. All I can do is hold on to the toilet seat with both hands like it is a floatie in the ocean as memories wash over me. So many nights where I would sit in front of him on the couch, eating a bowl of ice cream and cereal while he braided my hair. I taught him how when we first started dating, and he did it as often as possible after that.

I whimper as another bolt of lightning strikes through my brain. “Is this death?”

“Pretty close.” He presses the cool cloth to my neck once again, and his knuckles graze my skin. “I feel like roadkill. By the way, did we…?” The way he hesitates to finish that sentence sort of undermines his playboy reputation. He almost sounds embarrassed. “I don’t remember anything and that worries me for a lot of reasons.”

I cut my eyes down to my fully clothed body, and then peek over my shoulder at his half-naked one. He’s wearing pants but no shirt. No belt. Just…muscles and the waistband of his black boxer briefs peeking out over the top, and…tattoos. Two large beautifully detailed hawks are mirrored midflight on either side of Derek’s chest. They have broad wings and talons outstretched as if they’re about to land or pick something up. Like they’re going right for the center of his sternum where they’re going to rip his heart out and carry it away. The piece alone is gorgeous, but on Derek with his size and muscles and electric blue eyes, it’s downright chilling.

I swallow down the lump in my throat and turn my face away. “I don’t think anything happened beyond swimming down the river of alcohol.”

Using the toilet seat to help me stand, I wobble like a baby fawn to the sink so I can dash cold water across my skin and smudge away the mascara from under my eyes. Derek sits on the side of the tub, rests his forearms on his knees, and tracks his eyes down the length of my body like he’s searching for hidden memories. I nearly shiver from the intensity of his gaze. Is he remembering something from last night, or something from years ago?

“I don’t think we did anything besides sleep.” He drops his head and runs his hands over his face.

For a moment, my gaze lingers on him and a surge of ugly jealousy rises up. I don’t even want to think about how many women have woken up to the sight of this man and tried to lock him down as quickly as possible. He’s the kind of person you could easily become obsessed with—I know from firsthand experience.

I turn away from Derek and pick up my toothbrush with a plan to rid myself of this dragon breath and then flood my entire system with coffee. I’ll take a shower alone (not sure why I felt like I needed to add the alone part) and then pack all my things and book a flight out this morning instead of waiting to fly back with Derek this afternoon like we planned. Derek asked to dissolve our contract last night because he doesn’t like being around me, or can’t let go of our past, or whatever’s me, and then woke up in my bed and held my hair back while I threw up; and none of those events make sense to my organization-loving brain, so I’m going to run from them as quickly as possible.

“All right, Pender. We need to get you out of here without anyone noticing. Because if the media were to spot you coming out of my hotel room, it would spell disaster for both of us.”

“Uh—”

I shove the toothbrush into my mouth and begin a furious teeth cleaning, talking to Derek through the mouth suds. “In fact, let’s just forget this ever happened, okay? We’re both grown-ups. No need to make a big stink out of nothing. Most likely you made sure I got back here safely and then toppled onto the bed and passed out with me. No harm, no foul.”

Derek rubs the back of his neck while staring at me. “I’m not sure we’re going to be able to forget last night quite so easily.”

I roll my eyes at my own haggard-looking reflection. My hair is a wild mess of auburn tangles, and I have black streaks under my eyes from my mascara. There’s only a faint tinge of pink stain where my lipstick used to be.

I know Derek isn’t looking at the woman standing before him and wishing he could have her forever. Not anymore. Instead, he’s thinking he got out in the nick of time.

“Derek, there’s really no need for you to—”

He launches off the side of the tub and in two strides is directly behind me. We make eye contact in the mirror and the blacks of his eyes are competing against the blue. His hand moves around me to clasp mine, and in the process, his warm bare chest presses against me. He raises my hand, and my jaw drops—toothbrush falling out and hitting the ground with a ceremonial clack.

“Is that?” Toothpaste is dangerously close to dripping from my mouth, so I lean over quickly and spit before whirling around to face Derek. I hold my hand up between us and he does the same with his.

We stare at each other’s ring fingers.

“It’s possible…” he begins with a measured calm, “…that we got married last night.”