TORI'S POV
I woke with a start, my brain wrapped in cotton and static. The first thing I registered was the pounding in my skull—sharp, rhythmic, merciless. The second was that I was in a bed that wasn’t mine.
I blinked against the soft light filtering through unfamiliar curtains, my eyes sweeping over the pale gray walls, the scattered books on a desk I didn’t recognize, the faint smell of detergent and something else, warm, clean, masculine. Then I felt it. The arm. A heavy, warm weight draped across my waist. My entire body went rigid.
This wasn’t my room.
Panic exploded in my chest like a detonation. I held my breath, heart racing, every sense on high alert. I didn’t move at first—just stared at the ceiling, willing my memory to kick into gear. My skin was bare against the sheets. Slowly, carefully, I lifted the arm and slipped out from beneath it, squinting as I glanced down.
I was completely naked.
The blanket slid off me and a cold rush of embarrassment hit me square in the gut. My jeans were slung over a chair, my shirt half-hanging from a desk lamp like some forgotten party decoration. A bra on the floor. My underwear peeking out from beneath the bed.
My stomach flipped.
What the hell happened?
I forced myself to stand despite the vertigo threatening to topple me. My legs felt like lead, my head still throbbing with each step as I crept around the room, collecting the pieces of my life one item at a time. I crouched beside the chair to grab my jeans, heart thudding so loudly I was certain it would wake him, whoever he was.
Bits of the night before came back in jagged, chaotic fragments. The Olympic scout. The drinks. The slow, syrupy buzz that overtook my limbs. Someone's arms lifting me, strong, steady. The murmur of a familiar voice in the dark. Fingers brushing my cheek. Warmth. Pressure. My own voice whispering for him to stay.
God.
I spotted my phone on the nightstand and reached for it quickly, praying there would be some clue, something that would make sense of the fog in my brain. But before I could grab it, I heard the rustle of sheets behind me. The bed creaked slightly. I froze, heart slamming against my ribs as I stared at the wall, willing the world to rewind about twelve hours.
“Leaving without a goodbye?”
The voice made me go still. Not because it was unfamiliar, just the opposite.
Familiar. Too familiar.
Ethan.
My breath caught. My whole body turned cold. I turned around slowly, clothes clutched to my chest like some kind of pitiful shield, and saw him propped up on one elbow. His hair was a complete mess, sticking up in a dozen directions, his eyes still soft with sleep. He looked... normal. Calm. Like this wasn’t a big deal at all.
I, on the other hand, felt like I’d stepped into someone else’s life.
“Ethan,” I whispered, my voice cracked and barely audible.
He gave me a slow blink, then a small smile that looked more cautious than cocky.
“Hey.”
I stared at him, my fingers tightening around the fabric in my arms. “What happened between us?” I asked, the words sharp, shaking, almost choked.
“What the hell happened last night?”
He pushed himself up further, sitting now, his expression shifting to something more serious. “You don’t remember?”
His tone wasn’t mocking or smug, it was careful, even. That somehow made it worse. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to remember. Part of me did. Part of me didn’t.
“I remember drinking,” I said, dragging in a shaky breath. “I remember… feeling dizzy. You carried me. Took me here, I guess. I said I was cold and I pulled you down into bed.”
Ethan nodded slowly, not taking his eyes off me. “You kissed me.”
That hit like a punch. I closed my eyes for a second, a flood of shame and disbelief rushing through me. “Did we…?”
He didn’t answer right away. And in that silence, my heart collapsed in on itself.
“I should’ve stopped it,” he said finally, quietly. “I tried to. You were drunk, and I didn’t want to take advantage of that. But you—Tori, you knew what you were doing. You looked at me like I was the only solid thing in the room. You asked me to stay.”
I pressed a hand to my forehead, trying to rub away the dull ache settling in my temples. “That doesn’t mean I wanted to have sex, Ethan.”
“I know,” he said immediately, voice steady but strained. “Which is why I kept asking. I asked you, more than once, if you were sure. And every time, you said yes. You looked me in the eye. You weren’t slurring or falling over. You were there. And I still questioned it.”
He paused, exhaling hard. “But then you pulled me in. You said I felt safe.”
My stomach knotted. Part of me wanted to scream. At him. At myself. At the haze in my brain that refused to clear. But another part—quieter, deeper—remembered that moment. Remembered wanting him beside me. Remembered how it felt to not be alone.
Still, none of it made sense now.
“I need to go,” I muttered, turning back toward the door.
“Tori,” he said, standing now too, grabbing a shirt from the floor and tugging it on like armor. “Wait. Don’t leave like this.”
I hesitated, hand hovering over the doorknob.
“This…this is a mistake. This should never have happened.”