One sideways glance at the clock on the nightstand assures me I’ve made a colossal mistake. This can’t be happening. Tears prick my eyes. Coach Evans is going to kill me if I’m late to practice let alone hung over. Between the dizziness and the shooting pain in my head, I’m having trouble staying upright, but after the speech Coach gave me yesterday, I have to show up regardless of my protesting body.

Turning my head too quickly, I lose my balance as an intense pain rocks my brain. I stifle my sobs with the back of my hand, careful not to wake up the guy in the bed. I search the carpet for the boots Cara let me borrow and see one peeking out from underneath the bed. I get on my hands and knees in search of the other. Swaying slightly to the side, I fight gravity to keep moving forward. But I spot the other boot all the way on the other side of the room by the window. As quietly as possible; I crawl over to fetch it. I stop moving when I hear him clear his throat. “You’re up.”

Raising my head, the last person I expect to see is Kipton. In shock, I sit back on my heels and stare completely dumbstruck. Kipton’s sleepy eyes are staring back at me not giving away an ounce of information about the night. Instead, his look is intense as his gaze shifts to my neck. Whatever he sees makes him cringe. I touch the area of skin he’s focused on with my fingertips and discover it’s tender.

Standing up, I shuffle to the mirror hanging above his dresser. “What the fuck?” I lean closer to the glass, trying to get a better look at the bruise on my neck. I know what it is and it looks trashy. Another reminder of a portion of the night I don’t remember.

Things only get worse when I spot the gigantic lump on my forehead. “What happened to me?” I whisper against the glass of the mirror, fogging it up with my breath. The injury convinces me I’ve been violated in some way yet the mood around me seems unthreatening. None of it makes sense.

Clutching my head with my right hand and my neck in my left, I capture Kipton’s fierce reflection through the mirror. His eyes soften only when they meet mine. He looks different first thing in the morning—sexier if that’s even possible. If I thought I was attracted to him before, seeing him naked from the waist up only solidifies it. His chiseled torso taunts me, suddenly making me self-conscious about being intimate with him and not remembering. What did I let him do to me?

“I have to go. I’m going to be late for practice.” I scramble to put my boots back on and wet my fingertip to try to remove some of the black mascara that’s smudged underneath my eyes. Refastening my ponytail is painful with each tug of my hair sending more shooting pains to my forehead. Gingerly, I run my fingertips over the bruise on my head and wince. It’s incredibly sore to the touch. “Shit.”

Searching for my wristlet; my anger intensifies when I can’t find that either. “Where is it?” Tears start to fall again, my frustration mixing with my embarrassment. I hate the way he’s watching me.

“Come ‘ere a minute, Sophie” Kipton scoots to the edge of the bed, the sheet falling away from his body. I let my gaze fall to the floor so I’m not tempted to stare at him. My body trembles from the shock of the unknown combined with the pain from my throbbing temples.

Complying, I go to Kipton, wiping away my tears with the back of my hand. He reaches out his arm and pulls me closer so I have no choice but to sit down on the edge of the bed next to him. “Sophie, you’re shaking.”

As he reaches up to inspect my head, I lean away from his touch before he can make contact with my skin. “Don’t.” He appears stunned by not having permission to touch me.

“Sophie, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“It already hurts. I don’t know what happened and I’m in so much trouble. I need to get back to the dorm.”

“Shh. You’re okay.” Reaching for me again, he lightly grazes his thumb over the bruise while nestling his fingers in the strands of my hair. The action is intimate and somewhat adoring, both of which I don’t understand, especially coming from a guy I barely know. There’s no urgency or dominance in his actions. Instead he appears genuinely concerned with his soft touches and careful inspection.

When I can’t take the intensity of his touch any longer, I speak. “I’m fine.” But my eyes lie as much as my actions. He knows I’m in not fine—at all.

“Sophie, you need to get your head looked at. I couldn’t take you last night because you were so drunk.”

“No, I know. Thank you. I would have lost my scholarship.”

“Yeah. That’s why I didn’t want to risk it. But I feel like I messed up.”

“I promise I’ll be okay. I take falls all the time at practice.” Kipton blinks several times and I know he’s about to call my bluff.

“I can tell you’re in pain. You could have a concussion. I’ve had one. It’s no picnic.”

“I know. I’ve been there too, but I’m late. I need to get going.” He nods reluctantly and brushes his thumb down my cheek before tucking a stray strand of my hair behind my ear. “Thanks.”

“Give me a minute to put a shirt on and I’ll drive you.”

“Okay. Thank you. Do you happen to know where my shirt is?” I play with my hands nervously, embarrassed that I have to ask him for my own clothing. I couldn’t be more disappointed with myself.

He turns his head to face me and pauses, his eyes roaming up and down my body. I glance down at my horrendous outfit. You can’t even tell I have a skirt on with the T-shirt hanging all the way down to my knees. “No I don’t. I wasn’t the one who took it off. Do you remember anything about last night, Sophie?”

“Honestly, not much. I remember coming here and losing Cara in the crowd. Then I met up with Caleb at the keg. He showed me around and gave me some drinks. Everything after that is a blur.”

“That’s what I thought.” He pulls a T-shirt over his head, grabbing his keys as soon as it’s in place. I fidget, wishing this wasn’t so awkward. “Come on, I’ll take you back to the dorm.” He opens his top dresser drawer and pulls out my bag. I sigh in relief that it’s not lost.

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to keep thanking me, Sophie.”

I don’t argue. Instead, I follow him downstairs. From the looks of it, the rest of the house is still asleep. Guys and girls are passed out on various couches throughout the living room. There definitely won’t be any signs of life inside the house for a while.

Kipton uses his remote entry to unlock a black Chevy Camero. The outside of the car screams vintage sexy while the interior is sleek and modern. Of course he would drive a hot car. I roll my eyes at his level of male perfection and manage to make myself laugh despite the circumstances.

“What’s so funny?” Instead of hopping in the driver’s seat, he walks around to the passenger side and opens the door for me. I stare at him for a moment too long, surprised by the chivalrous gesture. “You getting in?” he asks with a smirk while leaning against the doorframe. It should be illegal to look that good having just rolled out of bed.

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” I climb inside, immediately noticing the smell of new leather from the upholstery. When he starts the engine, the entire car powerfully purrs to life. The vibrations light a torch inside my body from my ass to my toes.

Despite how much I want to forget about last night, I still can’t stop harping on the fact that I may or may not have had sex with Kipton. He glances over at me from the driver’s side, his eyes inspecting my head for the millionth time this morning. Once he gets his fill, his gaze drops to my lips. I lick them instinctively and his eyes heat up to an even deeper shade of blue. It’s too personal for this early in the morning, so I stare out my window and try to block him out.

“You okay, Sophie?”

No I’m not. “Did you, I mean, did we, well you know. Did we?” I ask shyly, still unable to look at him.