Which motherfucker is drilling a jackhammer into my skull?

"Stop it," I groan at no one in particular and then wince because my voice is so damn loud, it rattles my brain. A burst of pain shoots at my temples and I jolt so suddenly that I accidentally roll off my bed. The side of my body hits the floor and I groan again, then whimper because now everything hurts.

I think I'm going to just lay here and await death.

It sounds like a solid plan. Loving the sound of it. Don't have to move now or ever. And if I'm dead then I can't feel this headache anymore. So really, it's a complete win.

But then my phone rings and the sound is so large and jarring that I shriek. I press a hand to my chest and suck in a large gulp of air, eyes falling shut. Just...relax. It's just one of those mornings where everything is happening before you're even awake and can make sense of what's going on so you want to crawl back under the covers and pretend like the day isn't starting against your own will.

Great. Perfect. Lick me like an ice cream cone awesome.

I reach above my head, my hand tapping the surface of my side table before it touches my phone, and then I bring it to my ear. "Hello?"

"Hi. May I speak to Sierra Lancaster please?"

"Speaking," I murmur then grab the edge of my bed to hoist myself up in a sitting position. I slap my face to snap myself out of it because the woman on the other line sounds serious. Professional. Focus, Sierra! "Uh, who is this?"

"I'm calling from head of the team at Bright Lights Amusements."

"That carnival is Fairfield?" I ask in confusion. Why the heck is a carnival calling me? Exactly what did I do last night? I haven't even attempted to remember yet and based on how this morning is going so far, I don't think I want to.

"That's right! I realize this is last minute but I was wondering if you'd be interested in holding a booth for your bakery at our event."

Huh? For the life of me I don't understand what's happening. Did I make some kind of call last night? Send out an email? But neither of those things make sense because why would an event as big as Bright Lights Amusements consider little ole' me to begin with? I lick my dry lips, trying to figure out how to stealthily get more information out of her.

"That sounds really exciting. I...um...admittedly, I'm wondering what's made you consider me. Is it okay that I'm asking?"

"Of course. Sierra's Sweets was recommended to us in light of your contribution to the SF Player Management fundraiser gala. I believe the referral was sent by Mr. Holden Rey? It looks like your booth will be right across SFPM's as well."

The gala. That's right.

Holden.

Oh, God. It comes back to me in flashes and the sudden rush of memory hits me so hard that I shake away the mental images. I'm not doing this right now. This phone call, shower, food, and then trying to recall the many possible ways I made an idiot out of myself last night.

"Um, right. I worked for his event last night."

"And it sounded like you were a big hit!"

You have no idea, sister.

"So are you interested?"

I make myself snap out of it. As much as I'm wondering why Satan would do something like this—and why do I get the feeling I'm supposed to be remembering something important from last night?—I need to take this offer before I pass it up like an idiot. "Yes, of course."

"Great! I can email you details like the general order and how much you'd get paid."

I get paid to do this? Well, of course I'd get paid to do this but I don't know why it's just hitting me. I'm so used to not getting money for baking that I kind of forgot I'm supposed to be getting paid for it. Wow. Aren't I just a ball of sunshine today?

"That works," I tell the woman who's responsible for making me richer if I take this job.

I may be hungover and unable to comprehend what the shit is happening right now but even still-drunk me recognizes how awesome this is. Two major catering services in the same week? That's like Viagra for my bakery and the little slut is about to get the best orgasm of her life.

"Perfect. I do have your bakery information so should I just forward the details to your business email?"

"Yeah, that works best."

"Okay, that's everything! Thank you so much. We're looking forward to having you."

"Thank you. Bye." I end the call and throw my phone on the bed. That was weird. And random. I still haven't quite processed it.

I'm going to work for a carnival. And Holden referred me for whatever reason.

Okay. Processed.

What the fuck have I done?

I may or may not possess a deep-seated trauma for carnivals. It may or may not have something to do with being too chubby for the rides and forever scarring me from even attempting to go to carnivals again even though I weigh, like, seventy pounds less since the last time I went. And now I'm going to be working at one. Because of Holden.

This is why you don't make important decisions when you're still semi-drunk from the night before. I swear I drank enough alcohol that just the smell of my breath is making me tipsy. Gross. A shower is calling my name.

I let myself groan miserably because I am an adult that lives alone and no one can judge me for how dramatic and whiny I'm being. I strip as I go to the bathroom and all but stumble inside the shower. As soon as the water pelts down on me, I yelp and and fold in half. I don't know if it's just me, but I'm so sensitive to showers when I'm hungover. I wish I could just lounge around and smell bad but even I'd judge myself for that, living alone or not.

Once I'm clean, teeth brushed and body washed, I feel partly human again. I change into some light cotton pyjamas because it's getting hotter and I can't afford to crank the air conditioning in this place. It's an expensive complex and I'd foolishly believed my business would be successful enough for me to live here. Wrong. I crack open a window instead and then force myself to the kitchen to make breakfast.

One of the great things about being a baker is how naturally cooking comes to you. I mean, I'm half-asleep but still whipping up eggs and bacon like I'm on Food Network. The motions come to me like second nature and I yawn and squint through the whole thing. It isn't until I get some of that grease in my belly when I take a large forkful that I'm finally more alert and awake. Because, well, food. And I rarely indulge in an unhealthy breakfast but after the night I had, I'd say I deserve it.

Speaking of, I think I've gotten to that point in my list where I'm supposed to remember what I did last night. I take a gulp of juice and rack my brain as best as I can. Let's see.

I got to the gala. Almost dropped one of my cakes. Well, Mara almost dropped it first. Until that cute security guard caught her. I wonder if she went home with him? I'm pretty sure I told him that she wanted to get freaky with him, didn't I? I wince. Moving on.

Flirted with Sawyer. He turned out to be a hot nerd. Major respect. Flirted with a swarm of athletes after that, all of whom showered me with compliments the whole night. And then those hunky athletes devoured everything except the table on which I served my dessert. Score for my business.

And then I was interrupted by Holden...

Holden.

I pause mid-bite when it all comes rushing back to me. Oh my God. Holden and I had some kind of...some...moment last night.

Oh, I'm going to be sick.

I threw myself on top of him! Literally leapt on him and told him I'd bounce on him like a trampoline if he didn't confess his secret little thoughts to me.

Forget sick. I think I might die.

Because tell me I didn't do that. Tell me I didn't literally throw myself at him like all the girls in high school used to. I...I straddled him. Made him hard. Oh Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Tell me I didn't make Satan hard? Gave him a boner and literally wiggled on it trying to decipher what it was?

My breakfast rushes back up and I slap my hand over my mouth, trying to keep it together. I so want to stop here but my mind keeps moving on it's own. Unfortunately, it doesn't stop there.

He carried me from the elevator to my apartment. I made a huge deal about my weight. Oh God, I got all pissy with him about my stupid insecurities and then he carried me when I could have just walked. He carried me and...and he took off my heels when my feet ached, and he gave me a glass of water to sober me up and...and...and he admitted that he missed me.

He said that he missed me.

I slowly take my hand away from my mouth and place it over my chest self-consciously when I feel my heart stutter for a moment. Because Holden really had said those words. I'm sure of it. He'd admitted that he was being an asshole because he realized he'd missed me this whole time. My best friend, who stopped being my best friend so abruptly and left me hanging, actually missed me. And when he said that he took away years of wondering if I wasn't good enough, or if I was imagining our friendship in my head, or if I was pathetic or clingy or just these awful things that sent Holden running because he didn't care about me. But he did. Does?

And...I think we almost kissed. Yes. I'm sure of it. I don't think it was the alcohol that gave me butterflies when he'd looked into my eyes so deeply, so intense and true, or when he'd gazed at my lips with thinly veiled longing. I wanted to kiss him, yes, but he wanted to kiss me too. And he was stone-cold sober, which meant nothing but me was making him feel that way.

I didn't know I could make him feel that way. I didn't know he could make me feel that way. We've hated, or deeply disliked, each other for so long that I didn't ever think we could have something else between us instead. But what is it really? Two adults who have history, and maybe feel inclined to see if there's more? Would this be happening between us if we were strangers? Or am I reading way into this? For all I know it's just mutual attraction because hey, that happens. And when you have history with the person, it makes you more comfortable to give into chemistry. Is that what we have? Chemistry?

Okay. Way too many questions for a Sunday morning.

I'm definitely overthinking this. It was nothing but two adults who settled the dust on their failed history. I was drunk so I did stupid things like literally jump on top of him. He's a guy and so his body reacted. I was all but humping his penis. Of course it got hard. If I had one, I would have gotten hard too. It was a stupid fleeting moment and I'm being a clingy chick about it as usual.

It really is no wonder I sent him running all those years ago. I'm practically doing it again, aren't I? One drunken moment and I'm trying to deconstruct it like we're in a movie and are going to end up together ten scenes later. What is wrong with me? I must be feeling more lonely these days than I thought. So lonely that I briefly considered if Satan and I have something between us. Imagine!

"You disgust me," I mutter to myself, popping a blueberry into my mouth and carrying the now empty dishes to the sink.

But that still begs the question...why did he get my business another job? He wouldn't have done that if I freaked him out yesterday, right? He wouldn't have done something so nice. Does that mean he's not freaked out? Because the thought of that freaks me out.

I bite the edge of my thumb nervously. Just yesterday, Satan and I were still decade-long sworn enemies and today we might not be.

I'm casually freaking out over that interesting tidbit when I hear it. A giggle. A feminine giggle that makes my ears prick with curiosity. I'm hit with a sense of déjà vu, remembering that night with Dani. But that definitely doesn't sound like Dani so it has to be someone else. Another woman.

I turn my body closer toward my door, slowly sipping my coffee and telling myself to stay in place. Don't check. Why should I check? Plenty of people live on this floor so it could be a neighbour of mine. And besides, what do I care? What am I—the neighbour police? I don't need to know who's on this floor at all times do I?

Forget it. Don't care. Not even a smidge.

But maybe half a smidge?

Because in my defence there's another giggle and now I'm wondering what's so damn funny. Maybe there's a guy out there in his tighty-whities doing the walk of shame for all I know. Can't be missing that, can I?

"Just a peek," I tell myself cheerfully as I tiptoe to my door. I look through the peephole as best as I can but I don't see anything. No one's out there. "Huh."

Man, I'm a basket case. If there's one thing the past twenty-four hours have taught me, it's that I'm never drinking again. Ever.

I snort at myself. Yeah, right. Where have I heard that before?

I start to turn around but there's a laugh this time. A deep and wonderful chuckle that gives me goosebumps. I immediately recognize it as Holden's even though I haven't heard him laugh in years. Then my stomach tightens involuntarily because...who's making him laugh?

I knew I shouldn't have looked. But I did, and now I watch through the peephole as a woman walks out of Holden's apartment with him holding the door open for her. Oh, man, she's gorgeous. Killer face and body and beaming at Holden. Who, I should mention, is shirtless.

Okay, then.

For some reason I'm holding my breath as I watch the woman lean forward and kiss Holden on the cheek. He grins back at her—I've never seen him smile like that—and winks and she heads down the hallway. He even leans against his doorframe and watches her leave with a fond look on his face. It's so unlike the stoic man he usually is so this woman, she must be important to him.

A weird noise comes out of me and Holden turns his head, looking at my door with furrowed brows. I squeak and duck, my hands and knees hitting the floor as I quickly crawl away with a pounding heart. Shit, shit, shit. He didn't see, right? God, I hope he didn't because I looked pathetic. Like someone put Sir Whiskers in a blender and made me watch.

That would be misleading anyway because I don't care. I don't care that he had another woman warming his bed last night. It makes sense in a way. I gave him a boner and sent him running so he probably had a bad case of blue balls. Maybe he called that woman. They had this familiarity between them so maybe they're each other's booty calls or something.

It's okay. It's fine. We're all adults here and he can sleep with who he wants. Just because he was nice to me last night and said some really great things and made me believe we could be friends and even got Sierra's Sweets another gig, doesn't mean that I should get hung up on that. This is good. A good reminder that I shouldn't get carried away and repeat my past mistakes when it comes to him. I already lost the guy once and maybe that wasn't really my fault. But this time around I know better.

I lean against the edge of my sofa and swallow back the tightness in my throat. What's that saying? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on...well...me.

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A/N

Aw, Sierra baby! My poor girl. She's trying so hard to be mature about this and denying that she's actually hurt. Been there done that. I truly relate to her a lot. What about you?

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Happy Reading :)