It's Always Been You

By: Elle Wright


Dr. Lovely Washington frowned when she felt the sun beaming down on her. Morning already? She patted the mattress, pausing when she felt cool skin under her palm. Drake. She pinched him. He pushed her hand away, grumbling something incoherent.

She smacked him. “Drake, what are you doing in my bed? And please…close the blinds. The light is killing me.”

“Whashuleafmelone,” he mumbled.

“I won’t leave you alone until you get up and shut out the sun,” she said, pinching her forehead. “My head hurts. And aren’t you late or something?”

When he didn’t move, she went to throw the sheet off, then stopped abruptly. Frowning, she patted her bare breasts. Uh-oh. Where is my shirt? Reluctantly, she slipped her hand under the sheet, over her stomach, her belly button, her—

She sat up abruptly. “Oh, my God, I’m naked!” Her mind raced to remember how she’d ended up like that. Last night was a blur. They’d booked a two-bedroom suite at the Bellagio because her family reunion         was there. Two rooms, two beds. Yet Drake was in her bed and she was naked. “Oh no.”

Drake had agreed to come because she hated going to these things by herself, and she wasn’t particularly thrilled to face her family alone after her breakup with Derrick. When she needed someone—and she did—Drake was always there. He was her very best friend, since the age of two.

Her night had taken a turn for the worse when she’d received a call from the hospital that she’d lost a patient. Drake had dragged her out onto the Strip to distract her. That was all she remembered.

She held her face in her hands, praying the shooting pain in her head would stop. She remembered something else. Tequila. Lots of it. Peeking through her fingers at Drake, she sucked in a deep breath. She couldn’t tell if he was naked. He was lying on his stomach, his bare back gleaming at her in the sunlight. The sheet was draped low. Gently, she lifted the thin material.

“Drake!” she screeched, digging her nails into his back.

He pushed himself up on his elbows. “Ouch! What?”

“Get up,” she ordered through clenched teeth. “Now.”

He blinked and glanced at her with one eye. “What happened?”

Pulling the sheet with her, she hopped out of the bed. “Look at you,” she said, pointing at his bare ass. “You’re naked! Oh, my God.”

“Oh, shit.” He rolled out of bed onto the floor with a loud thump. Reaching up, he pulled the balled-up comforter with him. He finally stood up with the thick cover wrapped around his waist.

There was no movement—just eyes on eyes, heavy breathing and loud thoughts.

“Why are you naked?” Her heart raced as she watched his gaze drop to the bed.

Drake ran a hand through his wavy hair. “Why are you naked?”

She swallowed past a lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. “I asked you first,” she croaked.

“Obviously, I don’t know.” He rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Why are you nervous?” she hissed. Drake was normally a calm and collected person, but they’d been friends long enough that she could recognize when he was nervous. After all, they’d been best friends for almost their whole lives.

His bloodshot eyes flashed to hers and his forehead creased. “I can’t remember. I just remember walking on the Strip doing shots.”

“What do you mean you can’t remember anything? You’re naked!” she shrieked.

He pressed a hand to his temple. “Love, please, be quiet. You’re making my head hurt worse. I don’t need continuous updates on our lack of clothing.”

She clutched the sheet to her chest. Tears pricked her eyes. “Drake, did we…?”

He held a hand up. “Don’t say it. There has to be a good explanation.”

“But we’re both…” She dashed a tear off her cheek.

“Don’t cry. That’s how we got into this situation in the first place.”

Placing her hands on her hips, she hissed, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He covered his eyes. “Pull the sheet back up, Love.”