A pair of dark, amused eyes stared down at me. He was leaning back against the counter, elbows resting back over the tile on his either side. I didn't recognize him. Naturally, my eyes narrowed down, confused.

Not Ian…

"Haven't you had enough?" He asked, a little smile playing at his parted lips.

"Who the fuck are you?" I managed to spit through my dry, choked kind of voice. I was a grown ass adult, turned a divorcee just a few hours back, hardly drunk and definitely not in need of an advice from a stranger.

"Woah, down girl. What's wrong? Did you break up or something?" He asked, genuinely surprised, and sat himself on a barstool next to me, offering me his uninvited company.

For some reasons, though, I didn't get a creepy vibe from him, like I should. He looked decent. A pair of ripped jeans, a t-shirt and topped with a leather jacket.

Expensive. He looked expensive.

But still, he was annoyingly in my business.

I averted my eyes away from him, and it settled on the bartender by mistake, who was fondly staring at me.

Gosh. My gaze then fell down, to my only, sole companion in the whole room—my glass of whiskey.

"So, break up, is it?" The man asked again, and I had an urge to actually tell him. But I didn't know him, and I wouldn’t tell him, anything. Why does he even care?

"Can you not bother me?" I muttered through the strands of my hair between my teeth. My head was dizzy, vision blurry, hardly able to make out between the two dancing images of the glass, as to which one was real.

The man reached forward and his fingers brushed my hair out of my face, "That's alright. But can you not chew your hair at least?" He said, and I felt the little sprinkle of disgust in his voice.

I cringed at his words, realizing I was actually doing it. I just had a few drinks, I was not even that drunk.

Steady up, girl.

"Look, usually I would've asked if I could buy you a drink. But seems like you've had plenty on your own." He said, sliding my glass away from my hand.

I wanted to protest but couldn't. My eyes were beyond droopy, almost closed, and my head spun in circles. A gurgling feeling stirred the insides of my stomach. I felt sick. I wanted to cry myself to sleep, hugging that stinky pillow of my cranky hotel room.

"By the way, I'm Niall. I was watching you since you stepped in, looking pretty...depressed." He smiled shyly, but I didn't understand the reason behind that coy smile.

Was it because he was watching me since I stepped in like a general creep, or was my depression just amusing to him?

If it was the latter, I was punching out his teeth. Not sure if I had the strength or energy, anyway.

I straightened up and spun around on the stool, now facing the open space in the middle of the bar, seeking fresh air. My throat tightened, stomach coiling uncomfortably.

"Hey, are you alright Miss?" I felt a gentle, soft touch of a hand on my shoulder, and almost immediately, I gasped. My skin shivered where his hands touched me. A reaction to not being used to getting touched, and I instantly brushed it off.

"Get your fucking hands off me, you prick," I pushed away from hum, trying to stand up, and as soon as I did, I regretted it.

The room spun, the chairs danced and tables flew up to the ceiling. Black spots crawled into my vision, slowly blinding me. My eyelids heavy, dropped close and my legs buckled, heels twisting to one side.

A hand circled around my waist, keeping me from hitting the hardwood floor, and I let my body slump against a hard chest.

Someone sighed, and after a beat, chuckled.

But before I passed out, I heard a voice say.

"Feisty pants."

I rolled onto my back, and squirmed. I cannot get away. My hands were tied, and stretched above me. There was nothing in sight.

It was black. All black.

And the blindfold was painfully tight around my head.

Shifting again, I laid on my stomach, feeling the cool breeze skimming the skin on my bare back. I was naked, laying in… a bed?

I pulled at the restraints again, but they were firm. The vague, warm scent of the sheets reminded me of someone.

Who?

The mattress sank beside me. I stiffened, feeling heat generate anew at the pit of my stomach. A warm, gentle finger glided over my skin, tracing my spine, from the base of my neck to the groove between my ass.

I recognized this touch. I knew him.

Who was he again?

I squirmed, trying to free my hand, wanting to reach out and touch him. He caressed one cheek, and I shifted again. I wanted him to touch me more, but I didn’t know where. Or why. It was frustrating. I tugged at the bindings around my wrist again.

Slap.

The sound resonated throughout the room as his hand came down harshly over my ass.

I gasped at the unexpected sting, then pushed back against his hand. His palm caressed my now burning skin and I moaned. I knew he loved my reaction. I knew him, but I couldn’t remember his name.

"More..." The word left my lips in a soft breath.

Without another second, he spanked my other butt cheek, and the burn crawled down, to the middle of my thighs, seeping into my sex. He repeated the caresses afterwards.

"Oh Maeve," his voice, husky and deep, tickled the surface of my skin, eliciting a whine from me.

I wanted to reply, but no words came out of my mouth. Only moans, and soft pants.

Who are you?

"Do you know who you belong to, Maeve?" He asked, and my legs were jerked open by two strong, rough hands.

The cool air teased me, between my thighs, and the chill ran through my spine, making my stomach coil in delight.

I knew I belonged to him. He was—

He was…

"Do you know who this belongs to?" He cupped me between my thighs, in his big, warm hands. His grip so tight, I moaned again.

Yes, it belonged to him.

But he was...

His breath fanned over the mid of my back, lips hauntingly close to my burning skin. And a low growl rumbled out of his chest, vibrating throughout my body.

"Mine!"

Michael?

I abruptly jerked forward, eyelids too heavy to open, and a ringing went off in my ear.

Gosh, what the hell was that?

Another impossible fantasy.

The sun, cruel and hot, blinded me with its unnecessary brightness, and I groaned, facing away from it. My head hurt.

Why did my head hurt?

When dizziness and morning paranoia faded, my eyes blinked and blinked then open to a white ceiling. Not a familiar one. The air was warm and welcoming, but still alien. I frowned, still pretty much sleepily. I shifted over the mattress as the silken sheets brushed my bare thighs, and momentarily my eyes widen.

Where am I?

Bolting up from the unforgivably soft bed, my breath caught up in my throat as my eyes ran around, up, down, right and left in the room.

No, I had never seen the place before.

How am I here? What did I do last night?

The soft brush of fabric over my shoulders diverted my attention for a moment, and I glanced down. I was wearing an oversized black shirt, my arms hardly visible from under the long sleeves.

A man's shirt.

I buried my heavy and aching head into my hands as faint, broken pieces of previous night flooded my mind. That man. I collapsed into his arms.

Did I... Did we...?

A throaty groan escaped my lips. Fuck, I hooked up with a stranger.

Great. First night after divorce and this was how I celebrated.

I wanted to rip my hair off, gauge my eyes out. And maybe scratch that bastard's face off too. Having sex with a drunk person is basically taking advantage, not hooking up.

God, I'm an abomination of a human.

"Not a morning person, eh?"

My head whipped up as the man…boy?…no, man, walked into the room, holding a little white tray with a glass of juice. He was the same boy...no, man from yesterday. But he looked much younger in the bright daylight shining over his whole form. He should be at least a few years younger than me.

What was his name? Nick?

My face scrunched as a hammering pain drilled into the sides of my head, and I dropped my face into my hands again.

"What happened last night?" I croaked out.

He placed the tray down at the nightstand and sank down at the very edge of the bed, carefully away from me.

"Nothing that you're imagining." He said, in a matter-of-fact manner and I sighed of relief, and frustration.

Of course. Even when I was drunk, he didn't look like someone who'd do such things, rather, he seemed like that annoying kid who would talk and talk until you passed out.

And that was exactly what happened.

"Did you bring me here?" I asked.

"Of course. Did you expect me to leave you passed out on the bar counter for those hungry folks?" He chuckled, a bitter annoyed chuckle. "Unbelievable."

"Excuse me?" Am I tripping or is he getting mad at me?

"How irresponsible can you be as a woman?" He said, turning around to face me.

“As a woman...” My eyes narrowed.

“A woman amidst a crowd of drunk men.” He arched an eyebrow at me. “You weren’t supposed to be in a men’s bar at the first place.”

Okay. He was getting mad at me. Scoffing to myself, I rubbed my throbbing temple. I didn’t even know his name and he was scolding me, like I was a fucking kid.

I narrowed my eyes and he glared back at me.

"I didn't ask for your help." I said, not even trying to suppress the annoyance in my voice or my face anymore.

"As if you were in a state to verbalize at all,"

"I'm sorry?"

"You should be, feisty pants." He dismissed the argument, and pointed at the tray beside me. "Have it. It's for your hangover."

I turned around, and saw two tablets set beside the juice.

Oh. I need that.

I wanted to retort back at him for how rude he was being with me, but at the moment, I knew better than that. Because he was basically trying to help me out. Hell, he even put me to bed last night. The most embarrassing moment of my entire life which I would have a hard time trying to forget. And he even...I glanced down at the sleeves of the shirt, hiding my arms.

"You didn't have to...undress me." I hated how my voice trailed off. Perfectly showed how embarrassed I was.

"Are you usually like this?" He folded his arms across his chest.

“Like what?”

“Sleeping in clothes splattered with vomit.”

My eyes widened, then shut tightly. Of course. That was the cherry on top.

Maeve, what the fuck?

“No...of course not.” Drawing my ashamed face away from him, I took the tablets and popped them in my mouth, and chugged down half of the juice.

I wished to disappear or evaporate into thin air, if I could. It had to be the most embarrassing situation I dragged myself into till date

"Finish it," He pointed out at the juice.

"I've had enough," of the juice and your attitude. I covered the scowl forming on my face, and put the glass away.

Who the hell was he, trying to act all bossy?

"I'm afraid the doctor says otherwise. Finish it." He stood, took the glass from where I had set it back at the nightstand, and held it up to my lips. "Drink," He motioned with his chin.

I stared up at him, with a blank expression. He looked a little too young to be a doctor.

He tilted the glass until the cool liquid touched the seam of my lips, and they naturally parted, letting the juice flow in, down my throat. It was awkwardly silent as I gulped down the juice, and he was staring down at me, so intently.

A shuffle at the door diverted my attention, and my gaze shifted from the bottom of the glass, settling on the man I had least expected to see standing at the threshold.

Ian.

A sudden inhale stirred me, so sharp that the juice got sucked into the wrong pipe. And before I knew, or could contemplate what was happening, I was moving away from the glass and splattering the juice out of my mouth with a choke, onto the guy standing before me. His white shirt now splashed in orange.

I held up my hand in a quick apology. "I'm so–cough–I'm sorry–cough– so sorry."

He quickly set the glass down on the nightstand and stroked my back with very light pressure.

"It's fine. Are you alright?"

I nodded, still coughing, my eyes watering, and nose burning as he turned around, still rubbing my back.

"Bro, don't just stand there. Can you fetch her some water?"

I looked up and Ian stared back at me.

I'm afraid the doctor says otherwise.

Ian was...the doctor he was talking about?

Ian didn’t move. Staring blankly at me. And for a moment I wanted to cover my face.

He hasn't seen your face before. A voice reminded me, but something about the way he looked at me, something about the way I felt his gaze searching for mine, told me otherwise.

Did he...did he remember?

After a pause, like he snapped back to earth, Ian moved. Furiously blinking than shuffling back, away from the room and out of my sight. I let out a shaky breath. My vigorous coughing had subsided but I was breathing unsteadily.

I looked up at...the guy.

"Neel?" I let out, the name coming out like a question.

He looked down at me, brows furrowed in concern and confusion, then softly shook his head. "It's Niall."

"Right, sorry." I looked away, licking my lips, and blinking the water away from my eyes. He somehow knew Ian, and Ian was here. In the same house as me.

"Who...who was that?" My eyes lingered over the now empty doorway, and Niall followed my gaze. Then made an 'Ah' sound of realization.

"That's Ian. My brother."

My head whipped up again, a pain spreading down my nape by the constant snapping.

"Brother?" I was asking myself. All of this was real, and happening right in front of me.

"Yep, I still live with my brother." He said, shyly." And by the way, he's a doctor." He chirped, with just a hint of pride in his voice for his brother.

I knew he is a doctor.

Niall was Ian's brother. No wonder he sounded so much like Ian last night. I let out a breath of exasperation.

Really? Out of all the places I could end up, I ended up here? At Ian’s house?

And fuck, in his brother's bed.