Chapter 7 Morning After Mistakes

Olivia: POV

My head was pounding like someone took a jackhammer to my skull. I groaned, burrowing deeper into unfamiliar sheets that felt way too soft. Wait—unfamiliar sheets?

I shot up, instantly regretting it as my brain sloshed around. The room spun before I could take it in. This wasn't my bedroom or even Victoria's guest room.

And I definitely wasn't alone.

A guy lay next to me, his bare back turned my way. Broad shoulders, messy brown hair, and—oh god—we were both clearly naked under these sheets.

Panic hit me as bits of last night flashed back: Victoria's strong cocktails, my fury over Jason, hitting on some guy at the bar... but the rest was a blur of hands, lips, and whispers.

I clutched the sheet to my chest, heart racing. Who the hell was this? Had I really gotten that wasted and gone home with a stranger? My body ached in ways that told me exactly what went down.

He shifted, starting to roll over. Pure instinct kicked in—I slapped him hard across the face.

"What the actual fuck?" I hissed as he jolted awake. "Who are you and what did you do to me?"

He stared, rubbing his reddening cheek, eyes wide with shock more than guilt. His face seemed vaguely familiar, but my hangover fog blocked it.

"Are you serious?" His voice was deep, edged with irritation. "You came on to me, Olivia."

So he knew my name. Great. "Look, I was hammered. Whatever happened—"

"Was completely consensual," he cut in, sitting up and raking a hand through his hair. "You were pretty into it, actually."

Flashes hit: me pressing against him at the bar, mumbling about forgetting my crap day, dragging him upstairs. My cheeks burned.

"I was drunk," I muttered lamely.

"And I tried to talk you out of it." He grabbed his phone from the nightstand. "But you were damn convincing."

More memories trickled in: my hands fumbling with his shirt buttons, my mouth on his neck, saying things I'd never say sober. Oh god.

"Well," I said, grasping for dignity, "thanks for the... service. You're good at it—bartender or whatever."

His face twisted from annoyed to pissed. "Service? You think I'm some gigolo?"

"Aren't you?" I shot back, confused. "You work at the Moonlight Lounge, right?"

He stared, then let out a bitter laugh. "You really don't know who I am?"

Something in his eyes twisted my gut. I looked closer—those blue eyes and the furrowed brow...

"Oh my god," I whispered as it clicked. "Blake Westwood? I haven't seen you in years. You've changed so much; you used to be chubby, but now you have such a sharp jawline."

"Bingo." His tone was flat, but I caught a flash of hurt in his eyes. "Glad you finally remembered."

Old memories rushed back: the boy who walked me home from school, who shared his lunch when I forgot mine, who promised to write when his family moved to England. My childhood friend. My buddy. The guy who'd always had my back.

"I didn't... it's been forever, and you look... different." Of all the guys in San Francisco to drunk-hook-up with, it had to be him?

"You look the same," he said, softening a bit. "Better, even. Though usually not this feisty in the morning."

I winced, glancing at the red mark on his cheek. "Sorry about the slap. I thought—"

"You thought I took advantage?" He arched a brow. "Not my style, Liv. Never has been."

That old nickname hit like a punch. Nobody'd called me that in years.

"So," I said awkwardly, "this is... unexpected."

"Understatement." He got up, wrapping the sheet around his waist, showing his toned back as he headed to the bathroom. "Aspirin's in the drawer if your head's killing you like mine."

While he was in there, I hunted my clothes scattered on the floor. My black dress was a wrinkled mess, but I yanked it on, desperate to feel less exposed.

Blake came out in sweatpants, still shirtless. I tried not to stare at his lean chest or the faint scar on his side. When had scrawny Blake gotten so... built?

"Looking for this?" He dangled my missing heel.

"Thanks." Our fingers brushed. "So... last night..."

"Don't worry about it," he said, still sounding ticked. "We were both adults. You were upset about something, right?"

"Jason," I blurted. "Caught him cheating."

His jaw tightened. "That tech exec you've been with?"

"Yeah. Ex now."

"You sure can pick 'em," he muttered, a hint of old resentment in his voice.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing." He leaned against the wall, wincing a little. "So you find out he's a jerk and decide to..."

"Sleep with the first guy at a bar?" I finished, embarrassment flooding back. "Not my proudest moment."

"At least you're owning it." His eyes held mine a beat too long, like he was searching for something.

Awkward silence stretched. I slipped on my shoes, brain scrambling for words.

"Did I at least help?" Blake asked finally, quieter.

"Help what?"

"Forget him. That's what you said you wanted." There was something vulnerable beneath his sarcasm.

I really looked at him—the old Blake was still there, but he'd become this guarded guy with walls I'd never seen before.

"Yeah," I admitted. "You did. You're... good at that."

His eyes narrowed. "I'm not some tool you rent, Olivia. Don't talk like I'm a service you reviewed."

I flinched. "That's not—"

Blake sighed, messing up his hair. "Whatever. This was a mistake. Just a drunken hookup between people who used to know each other."

I paused, sensing something unsaid. "Blake, if I hurt you—"

"Don't sweat it." His smile was fake, not reaching his eyes. "I can handle being your regret."

"That's not it," I pushed, unsure myself.

"No?" He raised a brow. "Then what? You got drunk, needed to forget your boyfriend, and I was there."

"You weren't just 'there,'" I snapped. "You were—"

"Was what?" he pressed, stepping closer, his eyes suddenly intense.

"The only guy who didn't see me as just George Parker's daughter," I admitted. "At least, back then."

His face changed, softened for a moment before hardening again. "Some things don't change, Liv."

The way he said it tightened my chest. I stepped closer, wanting to fix this. "I obviously owe you an apology. Let me make it up to you."

"How? Round two?" Sarcasm dripped from his words, but there was something else there too.

"No, just... something. Name your price."

I regretted it instantly. His eyes flashed. "My price? So now I'm definitely for sale?"

"That's not what I meant!"

"You know what? You're right. You do owe me." His voice went calm, which was scarier. "I'll think about what I want."

"Fine." I grabbed my purse from where it had landed near the door. "Call me when you figure it out."

Blake's expression shifted as if making a sudden decision. "Actually, I know exactly what I want. Compensation."

"Compensation?" I nearly laughed. "For what exactly?"

"For using me to get over your ex. For not even recognizing me. For that slap. Take your pick." His tone was light but his eyes were serious.

I sighed, softening my tone. "Look, I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings. That wasn't my intention." I stepped toward him. "If it means that much to you, fine. I'll give you one favor—anything you want." I paused, quickly adding, "Except jumping into a relationship. I just got out of one disaster, and I'm not looking to start another right now."

I added, "I'm probably not even your type anyway, right? Last night you were probably the reluctant one, just going with the flow while I practically dragged you into it."

Blake studied my face for a long moment, his dark eyes unreadable.