As my mind slowly became conscious, I was sure my brain had been invaded by a miniscule version of The Blue Man Group and, given the level of pounding going on, they were giving one hell of a performance inside of my head. My eyes were crusted shut while my body felt like I’d been hit by a freight train, so I lay still, waiting for something to flit through my brain that would give me a clue as to why I felt this way.
The band was still going strong in my head, but I was able to piece together a little bit of the day before. I remembered driving to Vegas from L.A. with my best friend, and former college (and current) roommate, Amelia. On paper, our friendship shouldn’t have worked. I was as straight laced as they came having grown up in a small town in Northern Louisiana, raised by my strict but loving grandmother. My brother Jason was one of the most popular kids in school, as the captain of the football team, but I was more of a nerd with my nose always stuck in a book. My nerdish ways got me a full scholarship to UCLA where I majored in Early Education, but Jason ended up having his knee blown out in his senior year of high school during the last game of the season and, with his less than stellar grades, he lost his only shot at getting a scholarship himself.
I met Amelia on the first day I had arrived at college when I walked into our dorm room and saw her dancing around the room in nothing more than her underwear while setting her things up on one side of the room. At least I’d thought they were her underwear, but I quickly learned that she was actually dressed. Like to go out. In public. I was worried that we’d have a difficult time surviving the year together in the same dorm room (I later learned from Amelia she’d had the same worries), but it didn’t take long for us to bond like long lost sisters. Where I was introverted, she was extroverted. I was low key and she was high strung. I’d been raised with very little extras and she’d been given anything and everything she’d ever wanted. I had one steady boyfriend, and then fiancé, all through college while she went through men and women left and right. We were polar opposites, but she was the yin to my yang and we quickly became inseparable. I was there for her when her mother lost her battle with breast cancer our freshman year and she was there for me when I’d learned, after graduation, my fiancé had been playing me for a fool, openly cheating with anything with a pair of breasts the entire three years we’d been together.
That was a year ago. After we broke up I was lucky to have Amelia in my life to move in with because I couldn’t afford a place of my own. I’d picked up a waitressing job when full time teaching jobs were more difficult to come by than I’d imagined, so when I’d applied for a position teaching kindergarten at the prestigious private school to the rich and famous, The Brigant Academy, I didn’t even expect a call from them, much less an actual interview. I use the term ‘interview’, but it was more like getting a top secret clearance into a military think tank where all of our nation’s secrets are stored. They did in depth background checks, credit checks, and interviewed practically everyone I’ve ever known from the time I could walk. They took their jobs seriously and being with the children of Hollywood’s most elite movers and shakers on a daily basis, they couldn’t afford to have anyone who led a questionable lifestyle near them. I’d never gotten so much as a note sent home from my teacher, so I passed their checks with flying colors and I’d just gotten the news that I was officially hired. Once I passed a probationary period of one full school year my position would become permanent, but until then I would be under scrutiny. I wasn’t worried though, I was as vanilla as they came.
Amelia and I squealed after hearing the news, jumping all around her condo, when she convinced me to take a drive out to Las Vegas to celebrate. It was a Friday, and now that I knew I had a decent paycheck I’d start earning the following Monday I figured I could afford to splurge some and agreed. We laughed and sang the whole way there and ended up at the Bellagio where her father, a prominent business man named Copley Carmichael, had a fully comp’d high roller suite that Amelia was free to use.
I’ve never been much of a drinker, which Amelia knows, but I swallowed the two gin and tonics she’d thrust into my hand fairly quickly while we decided what we’d be doing for the night. I had to drink two more before she could convince me to wear one of her outfits instead of one of the many sundresses that were a staple in my closet. Unfortunately, the last thing I remembered was going downstairs to get some dinner, but I was pretty sure my dinner consisted of salt, tequila and lemon wedges which explained the massive case of cotton mouth I had going on in addition to the drumming inside my head.
I’d never had a hangover before so I wasn’t sure if the fact that every muscle in my body ached was normal. It felt like I’d spent hours at the gym the day before and now my body was paying the price. I couldn’t remember ever feeling that bad and as soon as I could move more than my finger I was going to put a beat down on Amelia for getting me drunk. Growing up Jason Stackhouse’s sister had taught me a thing or two about winning a fight.
I shifted slightly and could feel that I was lying down on something both soft and hard. My weight was resting on my left side, under which was the ‘soft’, but the front of my body was draped over something ‘hard’. My whole body felt flushed and sticky and when I tried to lift my head I could feel the puddle of drool that had formed underneath my chin. That explained why my mouth was so dry.
I was in the middle of trying to convince my muscles that our bladder really needed for them to get up now when the something ‘hard’ underneath me moved. A screech left my throat as I sprang up and away, landing with a thud on the floor. I quickly rubbed the crust from my eyes only to see that I was completely naked and I screamed again, ripping the top sheet from the bed in front of me to quickly cover up.
“Quit yelling…” the something ‘hard’ gruffed out, his voice muffled by the pillow on top of his face.
I scrambled on the floor, wrapping the sheet around my body as tightly as I could, and looked up to see the most perfect male specimen lying completely naked on the bed. He must have been well over six feet tall and his body was long and lean with washboard abs and a perfectly cut ‘V’ leading from his hips downward. His arms were bent with his hands hidden underneath his head, but I could still see his biceps bulging from their position and since his head was covered by the pillow, I only knew he was a natural blond by the hairs surrounding the base of his…man bits. I was no virgin, but damn, he had a monster going on down there and he wasn’t even aroused.
I racked my brain, but nowhere in its recesses could I remember a naked man from the night before. I also noticed the telltale signs from both his body and the fitted sheet below that sex had occurred. My hand immediately shot in between my legs where I discovered evidence that the sex had occurred with me. I ripped the sheet open so I could see it with my own eyes and said, “Shit!” after coming into visual contact with the gross crusty confirmation stuck to the insides of my inner thighs.
“Shh…” said the pillow.
“You SSHHHHH!” I hissed, both in a panic and in pain from my still throbbing head. “And can you please cover yourself? Who are you?” I asked. My whole body was still flushed crimson, but I didn’t know if it was from embarrassment or the alcohol. I spied a couple of empty bottles of champagne on the floor at the foot of the bed and suspected it was a mixture of both.
He slowly slid the pillow from his head down to his stomach, coming nowhere near close to covering his privates with it, but even with his eyes still closed I had no doubt in my mind of who was lying there. He’d been my ultimate fantasy boyfriend from the time I was ten and first saw him playing the bad boy with a good heart in my favorite weekly sitcom. My bedroom walls back at Gran’s house were still wallpapered with his posters that I collected from every teen magazine I could lay my hands on at the time and my school binders were covered with his name scrawled across every bare inch, only I added a ‘Mrs.’ in front of it and dotted the letter ‘i’ with a heart.
“Fuck me…” I whispered. What were the odds? Since I was in Vegas, I was sure there was someone around that could tell me. Eric Northman had been acting from the time he was in diapers and I’d seen everything he’d ever been in. His fame started with that first sitcom and skyrocketed from there. He was in movie after movie all through his teens and early adulthood until he became a part of the partying crowd in Hollywood. It was rumored he started showing up late, and still inebriated, to the movie he’d been filming at the time and it showed in his acting once the movie came out. The critics panned it and he seemed to start on a downward spiral from there. He’d been linked with actresses, models, and porn stars in every gossip magazine in the country until he’d been the cause of a near fatal car accident while drunk. He was shipped off to rehab where he stayed for a month and when he got out, it seemed like he’d gotten his act together.
I’d never stopped thinking he was dreamy, but he was just a fantasy so I could omit his douchebaggery from my imagination. Living in L.A., it was hard not to know what was going on with celebrities, but I hadn’t paid any significant amount of attention to Eric Northman once I’d started college. I knew he was currently on another sitcom that was fairly popular, but I hadn’t seen it. Rumors were circulating again that he’d fallen off the wagon and I knew the paparazzi followed him around like he was Princess Diana reincarnated. I also knew from killing time in the grocery store checkout lane that he’d started playing in celebrity poker tournaments, so maybe that was why he was in Vegas. But why was he naked in my bed?
I looked around again and it took a minute for me to realize that while the suite we were in was practically identical to the one I was staying in with Amelia, this one was littered with men’s clothing; I assumed they were his.
He still hadn’t opened his eyes or moved another muscle so I assumed he’d fallen back asleep. I thought that was a good thing so I looked around for my clothes, thinking I could just slip them back on and right on out of his room before my fantasy boyfriend was ruined with reality douchebaggery. I spotted the slutty dress Amelia had convinced me to wear dangling at the foot of the bed, but as soon as I took a step in that direction the soreness between my legs made its presence known again. My brain was firing on more cylinders, now that I was awake, and the fact I’d had sex with Eric Northman, whether or not I could remember it, sunk in. Eric Northman that dated porn stars. I was sticky down there and he appeared to be as well.
“FUCK!” I yelled frantically searching the floor and bed for any signs condoms had been used. He groaned again and shifted the pillow back over his head, but otherwise stayed silent while I played ‘Where’s the wrapper’ all by my lonesome. I shuffled into the bathroom and checked the empty trashcan, even holding it upside down in case my alcohol soaked brain missed the condoms or wrappers that may have been hidden inside its pristine interior. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. What were the odds he didn’t have any STD’s? Yet another question to ask the mystery Las Vegas odds maker.
I shrieked again when I saw the massive case of sex hair adorning my head. As if I didn’t have enough going on, the tequila from the night before decided it had overstayed its welcome and I barely made it to the toilet in time for it to bid me a not so fond adieu.
Once I was done making my offering to the porcelain God, I went back to the sink and washed my face before grabbing one of the complimentary toothbrushes to scrape the ick from my teeth and mouth. I had decided to just chalk the night up to my one single solitary skeleton in my closet that I would take to the grave. I could just imagine what would happen if Niall Brigant, the school’s headmaster, found out about what happened. But if he did at least I could ask him what happened, since I was still pretty much clueless, before he fired me.
I was attempting to straighten my sex hair with my hands using water from the sink when an unexpected flash of color caught my eye in my reflection. Looking down, I saw on my left hand ring finger black cursive script at the base where a ring would sit. The tattoo said ‘Eric’s’ and the ‘i’ was dotted with a red heart.
I barely made it back to the toilet before the gin and tonics abandoned me too.