I did not want to wake up, especially with the ache behind my eyes pounding against my skull. Was someone running a power drill? And why did my body ache like I'd been thrown off a cliff?

Something wasn't right. My memory from the night before was blank. I should have been concerned, but I had bigger problems, like my brain trying to burst out of my head.

Warm light leaked through my shuttered eyelids, and I squeezed them together to block it out. As I slowly slithered out of my foggy haze, I shifted against the mattress, pulled the covers closer in search of a more comfortable position, with no luck. Then, a strange thought occurred to me.

This was not my bed.

Despite my headache, my eyes shot open and I scrambled upright. An open window let in a cool, gentle breeze and agonizingly bright sunlight. I squinted and rubbed my forehead against the dizzying ache as my vision slowly came into focus.

Aside from the baseball posters tacked onto the walls, the room was barren. No personal photos in sight to give me a clue as to whose bed I had the misfortune of waking up in.

The slate gray bed sheets slid off as I slowly moved my lead-filled legs over the edge of the mattress. I stretched my sore neck and saw an autographed and framed Kansas City Royals jersey above the bed. What the hell kind of teenage boy nightmare did I wake up in?

I blinked against the window's light. Through the open door, the power drill continued until I realized it was something different. It popped, sizzled, and smelled... good? If my stomach hadn't been performing acrobatics, I would have salivated at the amazing greasy smells around me. Instead, they left me more queasy than I already felt.

My heavy feet shuffled across the thin carpet and out of the bedroom. I followed the sounds and smells into the kitchen, which looked like it had not been updated in ages. With peeling linoleum and aged appliances, it strongly resembled my grandmother's home. I would have thought that I had traveled back in time if it weren't for the tall man with the nice, round butt standing at the stove with his back to me.

My hazy eyes squinted to read the letters on the back of his shirt. Shaw. 22.

Shaw... as in Cameron Shaw? Blackmailing Dickhead Cameron Shaw? What the hell was he doing in a kitchen that my grandmother may as well have decorated? Better yet, what was I doing here?

I parted my lips to speak, but my dry mouth and throat captured my words. When I finally found my voice, it came out as rough as I felt.

"Where the hell am I?"

Cameron glanced over his shoulder, looked at me with those disgustingly gorgeous eyes.

"Morning," he said. He waved a greasy spatula in greeting, but with an expression as cold as stone, then returned to what my sensitive nose identified as bacon. "You're at my house. I can take you back to the city later."

The city? If I wasn't in St. Helena, then where was I?

Vague memories crept back to me, and I suddenly remembered the barn party. There were shots, a keg, and then Cameron. I remembered the world turning upside down like I was on a roller coaster, and then I was in a car. I couldn't recollect much beyond that point except—Oh, god.

You're hot.

All the blood drained from my face. I wanted to melt to the floor and disappear entirely. My drunken self had looked Cameron Shaw right in his outfield-green eyes and admitted that I thought he was hot.

Fuck me.

It only got worse from there. He turned around to face the stove, showing me his backside again. A choppy image flickered into my memory of holding something round and firm. Did... did I touch his ass?

I could have died right then and there in that kitchen. I desperately searched for anything other than Cameron's backside to look at, to distract me from such a terrifying realization. Everything around me taunted me with the fact that I got so drunk that I grabbed a perfectly nice ass and admitted my attraction to its pretentious owner.

Then he had to go and make it worse when he turned around with two steaming plates of perfectly golden pancakes, fluffy eggs, crispy bacon, and cubed hash browns.

Oh, the audacity of this man to stand there like it was nothing and shove a plate full of food under my nauseous face. I'd never hated anyone more in my entire life.

"Have a seat," he said, pointing to an old wooden table and worn-down chairs. My stomach churned and sent an unpreventable gag up my throat. Any other time, I would have devoured such a breakfast, but this hangover was hellbent on making me pay for my drunken transgressions, mainly against Cameron.

"I can't," I said, eyeing the food like it was about to bite me.

"Then it's a good thing this isn't for you," he said. "There's plain toast, Advil, and water on the table."

He turned to walk down the hallway I came through, but not before wafting the food under my nose. I swore I saw a smug little grin cross his stupid lips. My stomach lurched before I could determine whether it was real or a trick of the light.

Not that Cameron Shaw had a bright smile. Hell, I didn't think I'd ever seen him smile at all. Angry dickhead.

My hangover was just bad enough to make me forget that I should have been embarrassed as hell, so I took a seat, swallowed the painkillers he set out for me, and nursed my head in my hands.

How on earth did I end up here? Where was Kelly? A sickening thought knocked against my skull like a softball. If I woke up in Cameron's bed, did that mean we slept together?

It unfortunately wouldn't have been the first time I woke up in a guy's bed. But the idea that my drunk self couldn't see past that fine ass made me furious.

Drunk Norah had a tendency to overlook things like shitty personalities in favor of other things. I couldn't blame her, honestly. But she didn't have to go and betray me like this. Not when there were plenty of baseball butts at that party to choose from. Sure, none of them were as good as Cameron's, but couldn't she have at least settled for second best?

When Cameron came back empty-handed less than a minute later, I nibbled at a corner of the dry toast and stared at the cup of water, avoiding his gaze. My memories of last night were hazy at best, and they slowly fizzled away until the moment I grabbed his butt. Everything after that was just gone.

Dishes and cooking pans clattered in the sink while Cameron scrubbed at them under a running faucet. Truly, a hangover's worst nightmare. He kept his back turned towards me, without so much as a glance in my direction.

It wasn't until every dish had been washed, dried, and put away that he sat down with me and his own plate full of breakfast food at the rickety table. He ate in silence, ignoring me as if I were invisible, and didn't acknowledge me until an accidentally large bite of toast kicked my gag reflex into high gear.

He swallowed a mouthful of eggs. "If you're going to throw up, at least do it in a toilet this time."

My next gag caught in my throat. This time? That meant...

Oh, for fuck's sake.

A faint, choppy memory crashed into my thoughts of what I did to the upholstery of Cameron's car. My throat instantly burned. Drunk Norah must have been out of her goddamn mind.

"God," I groaned, horrified beyond reason. "I am so sorry. Like, so sorry. I'll pay to clean it, I swear."

"Don't worry," he said, now staring into his food. "I took care of it."

I blinked at him in disbelief. There was no possible way he was telling me that not only did I throw up in his car, but he cleaned it up after.

With his head down, wavy clumps of dark brown hair framed his forehead. It looked so soft, and I knew from experience that it was. I wasn't sure which was worse: throwing up in a hot asshole's car and knowing he cleaned it up himself, or the fact that, even after all of that, I still wanted to touch his hair.

Did I touch it last night, after I blacked out, along with other things I didn't remember? I couldn't believe that this guy, who made it abundantly clear that the kiss we shared was the worst mistake he'd ever made in his life, may have actually slept with me. The least he owed me was an explanation.

"We need to talk about last night," I said, with as firm a voice as I could muster.

Cameron nodded at the table, his head down, still refusing to look at me. "Yeah. We do."

Good. At least we were on the same page. A million questions gnawed at me all at once, each one fighting to be the first one out.

"Did we... You know..." I trailed off and lifted my eyes toward the hallway where the bedroom was. Confusion crossed his face as he deciphered my gesture, as if it wasn't painfully obvious what I was asking.

It was a good thing he had decent physical assets, because either his brain was the size of a walnut, or he had taken one too many baseballs to the head. He followed my gaze as if he didn't know what was in his own house. When he looked back, realization finally washed over him before it turned to horror, and then disappeared entirely.

"No," he said with a firm shake of the head. "We didn't. I slept there." He pointed to a sofa in the living room, a wrinkled blanket tossed over the back.

I pressed my eyebrows together. "Why would you do that?"

He shrugged, like sleeping on a couch so a drunk girl could take the bed was the most casual thing in the world. "You insisted."

Knowing that Drunk Norah didn't betray me too terribly was about as relieving as a cold shower in December, because she still had other transgressions to pay for. Like whatever happened that Cameron thought we needed to talk about. If we didn't sleep together, then there was no foul on the play. As long as he didn't count anything else against me, like grabbing his ass, throwing up in his car, and stealing his bed.

"So what is it that we need to talk about so badly?" I asked.

His gaze returned to his food. "You said something last night. About your ex."

My eyebrows pressed together, and I squeezed my eyes shut against the headache this conversation was already causing me. My ex had been my ex for so long that I didn't even remember how many months ago we broke up. It was shortly after I came to SHU, and I wished I had dumped him a lot sooner.

"He was a loser," I said. Much like another man that I was getting to know a little too well. "Forget whatever I said. It was nothing."

Cameron swallowed, even though I hadn't seen him take a bite of food. His eyes rose to meet mine, held me in his outfield-green gaze. To my surprise, I didn't look away. I wasn't sure I wanted to. Because in his eyes, I saw a glimmer of the man I danced with. Someone soft, welcoming, like I could tell him my darkest secret and he would still hold me afterwards. Someone who knew there was more to me than a dress to be removed. Someone who wanted to be with me, instead of Drunk Norah.

"It wasn't nothing," he said, though I was too focused on his eyes to see his lips move. "You're worth more than a drunk kiss. You know that, right?"

Was I hallucinating? Was I actually in Cameron Shaw's kitchen, at his table, and looking into his captivating eyes while he talked to me like a therapist? There was no way the man I'd branded a blackmailing asshole was acting all chivalrous and caring now. If he cared, he would have said so when we met again at the gym. He had a habit of leaving before I was ready for him to go.

I tried to respond, but the answer wasn't the one he wanted to hear. He wanted me to tell him that I broke up with the guy because of something about self-respect. That I left him because I was tired of only spending time together when alcohol was involved. But that wasn't the case. It wasn't even me who ended things. After I got busy with softball at SHU and had less time to go out, he just stopped texting me. Stopped making plans. Ignored my calls. After almost a year of dating, he ghosted me.

I hated myself the entire fall semester, even doubted why I was there in the first place. I hung out with anyone willing to tolerate me, got drunk with them at the earliest convenience, because that was what made me likable. But everyone already had their cliques and friend groups, especially on the softball team. I wasn't important, except when I became the life of the party after a few shots.

"Norah."

My eyes refocused at the sound of my name on such a surprisingly soft voice. Cameron was still staring at me, and a disturbing heat flushed my cheeks.

I couldn't stay in his gaze any longer. My eyes fell to my hand on the table, but soon enough, his hand was there, too. Resting over mine. The warm skin of his palm pressed against my knuckles. His fingers brushed mine. He squeezed, gently, and the warmth in my face dripped into my chest, pooling there like liquid fire.

Why did Cameron Shaw care about me? He'd told me twice now that I was catastrophic to his future and made it clear that he didn't want me. So why was he sitting here, telling me what I was worth, and touching me?

I blinked at the sight of his hand over mine and pulled away. His hand slid onto the table, still in the same spot. My skin was cold in his absence.

"Of course I know that." I hid my hands under the table, rubbed my thumb over where he'd touched, just to make up for him not being there anymore.

I heard Cameron sigh. His chair scraped against the floor as he stood.

"Finish up," he said, his voice low and his words short. "We need to get going."

My headache instantly came back full force, as if the last two minutes hadn't happened.

"Go where?" I asked, though it sounded more like a groan.

"We need to get back to campus for our games tonight. I need to do something here first, though."

At the reminder that I would have to endure sitting on the bench with a monstrous hangover at my game tonight, an actual groan left my throat. God, I hated suffering the consequences of my actions.

"Don't bother," I mumbled. "I'll drive back. Just take me to my car."

"You're in no condition to drive."

I threw my head back in an exaggerated sigh and regretted it when my brain rattled against my skull. "I'm fine. Now tell me where you hid my keys, you little thief."

I stood, intent on showing him that I was perfectly fine and absolutely did not need to spend the morning letting him chauffeur me around. I searched every surface in the kitchen and living room, but with no luck. I turned back to him, ready to drop to my knees and beg, only to find my SHU softball lanyard and keys hanging from his finger.

He raised his arrogant eyebrows as if to say, "Looking for this?"

"Give them back," I said, glowering at him.

"Catch."

I usually had fast reflexes. As a second basewoman, I needed them. But when he tossed the lanyard, my hangover took over. I grunted when the keys hit me square in the chest and clattered to the floor.

Heat rose in my cheeks again, but this time, for a very different reason. I was officially back to hating this stupid man.

"Are you crazy? You could have stabbed me."

Cameron shrugged, as if he hadn't just thrown a dangerous object at me.

"Give it a few hours," he said. "There's a change of clothes on the table. Bathroom's the first door on the right. I'm going to get ready, then we can leave."

I rolled my eyes and snatched my keys from the floor. When I stood, the room spun. I really wasn't ready to drive yet. But I was apparently about to spend at least the next few hours with him, so he didn't deserve the satisfaction of knowing he was right.

— — —

A/N: This chapter is a long one, so it is continued in the next part :)