Can't Stand the Heat - Louisa Edwards [13]
Cracking her eyes the merest sliver, Miranda gritted her teeth against a grunt of pain and breathed out through her nose. Moving creakily, like an old, infirm woman, she managed to haul her aching body from the bed and hunch her way to the bathroom, avoiding a tangle of cocktail dress, ripped stockings, and red satin pumps on the floor. Considering how out of her mind she must have been last night to forgo the putting-away ritual, it was a minor miracle that she’d managed to somehow locate and pour herself into her favorite white-and-cream-striped pajamas.
She took care of bathroom business with a sigh of relief. The longest pee of her life, and maybe the most satisfying. It gave her time to squint down at her bare knees and register that, joy of joys, her pupils had evidently recalled how to dilate and contract in response to light, because it actually seemed comfortingly dim in the bathroom.
Dim enough to make it possible to glance at her no-doubt terrifying reflection in the mirror over the sink without passing out. Or throwing up, which was starting to feel like a serious concern.
But moving around had woken her up a bit, and her head hadn’t fallen off, so Miranda supposed she ought to keep going. She brushed her teeth, twisted her hair up into a knot on top of her head without bothering to brush it, and made her cautious way out to the living room.
Confronted with a problem, Miranda preferred to compartmentalize her thinking until the most immediate, pressing issues had been taken care of. Hence the trek to the bathroom had been made in perfect calm, every dehydrated, alcohol-soaked fiber of her being focused on the task at hand.
Now, however, Miranda’s busy brain was turning to other things. Like finding out what time it was, and taking a shower. Because, ew.
Not just yet, though. First things first. A direct IV of coffee, loaded straight into the veins, would be nice. But she’d settle for a nice, hot cup of the blackest, strongest stuff she could brew.
Her mouth watered; she could almost smell it. She inhaled again. Wait, she did smell it.
Sure enough, the coffeepot on her minuscule countertop was nearly full, steaming merrily. Miranda paused, befuddled, then blew out a long, gusty sigh.
Jess.
The selective memory loss caused by last night’s over-indulgence had momentarily blotted out one of the reasons she’d succumbed to the lure of that floral berry concoction from hell in the first place.
Jess was home.
Although apparently not, just at the moment. She listened hard, and even though the fresh coffee was evidence he’d been up and about, she couldn’t hear anything moving in the apartment now. And with hardwood floors as old as hers, stealth was impossible.
The sound of the front door opening made her jump. Shuffling footsteps and the rustle of paper bags preceded her younger brother down the short hallway and into the main room.
Jess froze for a second when he saw her standing in the kitchen, then smiled brightly. “Good morning!”
“Morning,” she answered, turning to search through the cupboard for her favorite blue china teacup. Any intelligent conversation was going to require caffeine.
“You’re up! I thought you were going to sleep all day. I just went out to pick up a few things. I hope that’s okay.” Jess was talking too fast, and it made Miranda’s heart hurt.
“Of course,” she said. “I had a late night.”
Jess laughed, the sound tight with nerves. “I know. I heard you come in around two.” He was clutching the shopping bags like a shield. Miranda swallowed hard.
“What did you buy?” she asked.
A light flush stained his cheeks; the curse of their redhead complexion. Jess’s hair was a shade or two darker than hers, more auburn than strawberry blond, but they both had fair skin that tended to show every flicker of embarrassment.
“Boring stuff like toothpaste. And I didn’t want to raid your kitchen, so I went to the German bakery on the corner for breakfast rolls. No raisins.” One corner of his mouth kicked up, and he suddenly looked just like the boy she’d raised, when