Marry Me for Money by Mia Kayla Page A

peered over the side of the bed.
    I could feel the color draining from my face, and I pulled the covers up to my chin. “No,” I snapped, narrowing my eyes at him. “How did I get here? Why am I only in a T-shirt? What happened last night? Why am I here in this hotel room with you?”
    His eyes filled with confusion. “I brought you here. I changed you last night because your clothes were covered in vomit. I have no idea what happened. I found you passed out in my car. This is not a hotel room. This is my condo,” he said in one breath.
    He walked toward me, his arms cautious and careful at his sides. “Why are you so mad? Actually, I think a thank-you is in order. Also, I’d like to thank you for leaving vomit that has now hardened on the exterior of my brand-new car.”
    “Did we sleep together?” I asked, barely audible. I couldn’t even hear my own voice. I was afraid of his answer, but I needed to know. Panic began to rise within me, and I held my breath.
    He paused to take in what I’d said. “Oh…” His widened as he registered my question. “Like I told you, you’re not my type. When will you believe that I only want a friendship with you?”
    I released a long sigh of relief that was loud enough for him to hear. “I feel dumb now.” I realized I had spoken that thought out loud. Like a small child, I rubbed my eyes with both palms.
    “It’s fine. I understand how you jumped to that conclusion, but I was a perfect gentleman last night. Even if I’d wanted to, I was pretty messed-up myself.”
    “My head hurts,” I whined. I dropped back down and closed my eyes. My head was pounding so loudly that I thought it would explode all over the soft down pillow behind me.
    “What the hell did you take?” he asked before walking out of the room. “Hold on, let me get you some Advil.”
    A few seconds later, he was above me with a glass of water in one hand and Advil in the other. His brown hair was in disarray. He wore bed head well, and I swore, he could have modeled for toothpaste.
    “How do you manage to still look cute in the morning?” I said, squinting up at him.
    He laughed. “I think you’re still drunk. Take this,” he said, putting the glass on the side table next to me and handing me the Advil.
    I pushed myself up, resting on my elbows against the satin sheets under me. “I saw you last night with the girl wearing the red heels.”
    “Red heels?” His eyes widened in awareness. “Oh, you did now, did you?” His dimple was apparent on his cheek. “She was a present from Luke.”
    “Okay, gross.” I rolled my eyes, took a sip of water, and swallowed the Advil.
    “You’re the one who brought it up,” he said. He moved to assist me, grabbing my glass and setting it on the side table again.
    “Luke bought me another drink, and it put me over the edge. He gave me some strong stuff.” My throat felt dry, like sandpaper. “How do you know him anyway?”
    “He’s an old friend from high school.” He frowned slightly as his eyebrows pulled in as though he was deep in thought.
    My eyes moved to the alarm clock beside me. It was almost two in the afternoon. “Crap, it’s Sunday. I should go.” I pushed my legs over the bed and froze. My head was still pounding, like someone was playing the drums in my brain. It took all my strength to just stand upright.
    “You can stay as long as you want. You don’t look well,” he stated as he gripped my elbow to assist me.
    “No, really, I have to go. I have to meet someone.”
    “A date? With the guy at the bar last night?” he asked, surprised.
    “Oh yeah, a date with both of those guys who basically assaulted me on the dance floor. Actually, I have a date with the guy with one arm. You took the other arm off, remember?” I looked at him like he was crazy. “No, dummy, I’m meeting my friend Caroline.”
    “Interesting,” he said, slightly smiling at my comment. “I was serious when I said, don’t pick up guys from a club. You