Kristen Ashley - The Gamble

Cautiously, because my stuffed up head was also swimming, I looked around and saw the loft bedroom from the A-Frame website.

“I’m dreaming,” I muttered, my voice was raspy and speaking made my throat hurt.

I also needed to use the bathroom which I could see the door leading to one in front of me.

I used more of my waning energy to swing my legs over the bed, I stood up and swayed mainly because, I was realizing, I was sick as a dog. Then I swayed again as I looked down at myself.

I was in a man’s t-shirt, huge, red, or it was at one time in its history. Now it was a washed out red. On the left chest it had a cartoon-like graphic of what looked like a man with crazy hair, madly playing a piano over which the words “My Brother’s Bar” were displayed in an arch.

I opened up the collar to the shirt, peered through it and stared at my naked body, save my still in place panties.

I let the collar go and whispered, “Oh my God.”

Something had happened.

The last thing I remembered was bedding down in the backseat of the rental having covered myself with sweaters and hoping someone would happen onto me somewhat early in the morning.

I’d tried unsuccessfully to get the car out of the ditch and, exhausted and not feeling all that well, I’d given up. I’d decided against walking in an unknown area to try to find the main road or happen onto someone who might just be stupid enough to be driving in a blinding snowstorm. Instead, I was going to wait it out.

I also suspected that I’d never get to sleep not in a car, in a ditch, in a snowstorm after a showdown with an unfriendly but insanely attractive man. So I took some night-time cough medicine hoping to beat back the cold which was threatening, covered myself with sweaters and bedded down in the backseat.

Apparently, I had no trouble getting to sleep.

Now I was here.

Back at the A-Frame.

In nothing but panties and a man’s t-shirt.

Maybe this was My Worst Snowstorm Nightmare in the Colorado Mountains. Weird things happened to women who travelled alone, weird things that meant they were never seen again.

And this was all my fault. I wanted a timeout from my life. I wanted an adventure.

I thought maybe I should make a run for it. The problem was, I was sick as a dog and I had to go the bathroom.

I decided bathroom first, create strategy to get out of my personal horror movie second.

When I’d used the facilities (the bathroom, drat it, was fabulous, just like in the photos) and washed my hands, I walked out to see Unfriendly, Amazing-Looking Man, otherwise known as Max, ascending the spiral staircase.

Like every stupid, senseless, idiotic heroine in a horror movie, I froze and I vowed if I got out of there alive I’d never make fun of another stupid, senseless, idiotic heroine in a horror movie again which I did, every time I watched a horror movie.

He walked into the room and looked at me.

“You’re awake,” he noted.

“Yes,” I replied cautiously.

He looked at the bed then at me. “Called Triple A, they’re gonna come up, pull out your car.”

“Okay.”

His head tipped to the side, he studied my face and he asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I lied.

“You don’t look too good.”

Immediately a different, stupid, senseless, idiotic feminine trait reared its ugly head and I took affront.

“Thanks,” I snapped sarcastically.

His lips tipped up at the ends and he took a step toward me.

I took a step back.

He stopped, his brows twitching at my retreat then said, “I mean, you don’t look like you feel well.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” I lied.

“And you don’t sound like you feel well.”

“This is how I sound normally,” I lied yet again.

“It isn’t how you sounded last night.”

“It’s morning, I just woke up. This is my waking up voice.”

“Your waking up voice sounds like you’ve got a sore throat and stuffed nose?”

I kept lying. “I have allergies.”

He looked out the windows then at me. “In snow?” I looked out the windows too and when he continued speaking I looked back at him. “Nothin’ alive in the ice out there that’ll mess with your allergies, Duchess.”

I decided to change the topic of conversation however I was becoming slightly concerned that I was getting lightheaded.

“How did I get here?” I asked him.

His head tipped to the side again and he asked back, “What?”

I pointed to myself and said, “Me,” then pointed to the floor, “here. How did get here?”

He looked at the floor I was pointing to, shook his head and muttered, “Shit.” Then he looked back at me and said, “You were out. Never saw anything like it. Figured you were fakin’.”

“I’m sorry?”

He took another step toward me and I took another step back. He stopped again, looked at my feet and then for some reason grinned. Then he looked back at me.

“I waited awhile, called the hotel to see if you’d checked in. They said no. I called a couple others. They said no too. So I went after you, thinkin’ maybe you got yourself into trouble. You did. I found your car in a ditch, you asleep in the back. I brought you and your shit to the house. You were out like a light, dead weight.” His torso twisted and he pointed to my suitcase which was on a comfortable looking armchair across the room then he twisted back to me. “Put you to bed, slept on the couch.”

I was definitely getting lightheaded, not only because of being sick but also because of what he just said. Therefore, in order not to fall down and make a right prat of myself, I skirted him, walked to the bed and sat down or, if I was honest, more like slumped down.

Then I looked up at him and asked, “You put me to bed?”

He’d turned to face me, his brows were drawn and he didn’t look amused anymore.

“You’re not okay,” he stated.

“You put me to bed?” I repeated.

His eyes came to mine and he said, “Yeah.”

I pulled at the t-shirt and asked, “Did you put this on me?”

The grin came back, it was different this time, vastly different and my lightheadedness increased significantly at the sight.

Then he said, “Yeah.”

I surged to my feet and then my vision went funny, my hand went to my forehead and I plopped back down on the bed.

Suddenly he was crouched in front of me murmuring, “Jesus, Duchess.”

“You took my clothes off,” I accused.

“Lie down,” he ordered.

“You took my clothes off.”

“Yeah, now lie down.”

“You can’t take my clothes off!” I shouted but I heard my loud words banging around in my skull, my head started swimming and I would have fallen backwards if my hand didn’t come out to rest on the bed to prop me up.

“I can, I did, it ain’t nothin’ I haven’t seen before, now lie down.”

I started to push up, announcing, “I’m leaving.”

He straightened and put his hands on my shoulders, pressing me right back down. My bottom hit the bed and I looked up at him suddenly so fatigued I could barely tilt my head back.

“You aren’t leavin’,” he declared.

“You shouldn’t have changed my clothes.”

“Duchess, not gonna say it again, lie down.”

“I need to go.”

I barely got out the word “go” when my calves were swept up and my body twisted in the bed. I couldn’t hold up my torso anymore so it also fell to the bed. Then the covers came over me.

“You had medicine in your groceries. I’ll get that and you need some food.”

“I need to go.”

“Food, medicine then we’ll talk.”

“Listen –”

“I’ll be right back.”