Chapter 2: The Crash After Tim POV

I jolted awake, sheets clung to my bare skin like damp hands, the room tilting wild like a nightmare gone live. Lisa sprawled beside me, naked as sin, pink hair fanning across the pillow, a tangled bloom against the white. My gut flipped hard, panic crashed in, sharp and cold. I didn't know what the hell happened last night, but waking up stripped bare with her? No chance it was clean. I swung my legs off the bed, snatched my jeans from the floor, stumbling as I yanked them up, legs shaky like a newborn colt.

"What the fuck, Lisa?" My voice scraped out, rough, shredded from whatever I'd choked down, fingers fumbling the zipper, catching skin.

She stretched, slow, lazy, not even bothering to cover herself, bare curves glowing in the half-light seeping through the blinds. "Morning, Tim," she purred, rolled onto her side, propping her head on one hand, "You were a riot last night." Her eyes raked me, teasing, glinting dark. "No down time, gave me what I needed for a while now."

I grabbed my shirt, tugged it over my head fast, fabric snagged my ear, yanked hard. "What the hell happened Lisa? Tell me, now."

She slid up, sheet slipped off completely, her skin catching the dim glow, "What's the fuss about Tim? We had real fun. You blanking out on me?"

"No, I don't remember shit!" I barked, jammed my feet into my sneakers, laces flapping, "That drink you shoved at me, then nothing. Did you..." Throat seized, couldn't spit it out, words choking me.

Her laugh sliced through, high, sharp, piercing the fog in my skull, and oh yes so annoying, "Chill out Tim. You were all in, dancing, drinking, landing here. No drama."

I snatched my phone off the nightstand, it was now 8:47 a.m. glared back, too damn early for this crap. "You are so full of it. I don't remember jack after that glass, what'd you do?"

She eased off the bed, sauntered over, stark naked, hips swaying like she owned the damn room, owned me, "Don't be such a crybaby," she said, reached out, fingers brushing my chest, light and taunting, "You enjoyed it as much as I did, I know you liked it and I could feel it."

I jerked back, elbow slammed the wall, pain spiking, "Don't touch me, I'm gone."

"Aw, come one," she teased, stepped closer, hand grazing my arm, tilted her head, lips parting, "Stay a bit. We could...you know..." Her fingers dipped lower, skimmed my waistband, slow and bold.

"No," I snapped, shoved past, shoulder clipped hers, she stumbled, giggling like it was a fucking game. Didn't look back, grabbed my jacket off a chair, bolted for the door, her "Tim, wait!" trailing faint as I hit the stairs.

House was trashed, cups littering the floor, a couple sprawled limp on the couch, out cold. I burst outside, morning air slapped me hard, crisp and biting, a guy with a dog stared as I tripped onto the lawn, panting, but I didn't give a damn. Needed home, needed this night scrubbed off my skin.

Walk was a haze, sneakers scuffed pavement, breath puffing white in the chill, birds chirped overhead, too bright, too loud for the storm in my head. Kept seeing it, Lisa's hands, that murky drink, waking up bare, gut twisted sour, tight as a fist. Hit my street, shirt stuck to me, sweat-soaked despite the cold, unlocked my front door, kicked it shut, lock clicking loud in the stillness.

House was so empty, Jack must've been at the shop, thank God, I didn't want eyes on me. Dropped my jacket on the couch, peeled my shirt off, damp and rank, headed upstairs, jeans hit the floor next, boxers too, till I was bare again, party stench clinging like a shadow I couldn't shake.

Bathroom door banged open, I cranked the shower, hot water roared, steam fogging the mirror fast. Stepped in, scalding spray blasted my back, I leaned on the tiles, letting it hammer me, grabbed the soap, scrubbed hard, suds pooled gray at my feet, attacking my skin, her touch, her laugh, all of it. Fingers dug into my hair, tugged roots till it stung, a tic when I'm unraveling, didn't fix much, just kept me moving.

Stayed too long, water cooled, prickling my spine, finally stepped out, no towel, just dripped my way to my room, wet footprints trailing. House was silent, fridge hummed faint downstairs, I paced, bare, restless, hand raking through soaked hair, debating if I should call Lisa, demand the real story, knowing she'd twist it anyway.

Then, a rustle, paper crinkling, I froze mid-step, eyes snapped to the living room as I passed the stairs. Jack, there, in the old armchair, newspaper spread over his lap, boots propped on the ottoman, watching me strut around buck-naked like a damn fool. Been there the whole time, quiet as a ghost.

"Jack?" My voice cracked, caught in my throat, arms crossed quick over my chest, skin prickling, suddenly too bare, too seen.

He folded the paper, slow, deliberate, eyes lifting, locking mine, "Morning, Tim," he said, calm, casual, like I wasn't standing there raw, "How did the party go with Lisa?"

Mouth opened, no words, dry as ash, he shifted, leaned forward, jeans stretched tight, and there it was, bulge thick, straining, unmistakable. Breath snagged, heat flooded my face, he didn't flinch, didn't blink, just sat, corner of his mouth twitching, faint, knowing, I couldn't move, couldn't speak, caught in his gaze, air turned dense, charged, silent seconds stretching too long, too heavy, too damn much.