The light from the parted shades sliced through his lids like shards of glass. His hand groped to find his face and prevent further injury from the invasion.
“Shut the drapes . . .” He crocked, his voice dying with the effort of speaking.
A shadow crossed his lids. “Trip, baby, come on.” The wine of the voice jiggled the rocks inside his head so they smashed against his skull. “You promised at the club last night you’d take me out on the boat today.”
She moved, taking her shadow with her and the sun again assaulted him. He wasn’t surprised he couldn’t remember her name, but he was surprised he couldn’t remember being at the club. Typically he could at least recall arriving, if not leaving and with whom. This could be the start of something positive. Perhaps soon he would be able to forget everything.
An image of Kurt fighting with the sails, bushy hair flying in his eyes, always smiling, wavered between the pounding in his temples. Fisting his hands, Trip screwed the cuffs of his hands tighter to his eyes to squeeze out the image. Just how much booze would it take to finally eradicate the memories?
The bed bounced and whatever he picked up last night settled too close, her fragrance overpowering, the floral scent too sweet. His stomach heaved and he swallowed to control the sensation. She brushed fingertips through his hair and he cringed, his skin prickled with resentment. With the effort of Hercules, he pushed up on his elbow and splayed his fingers apart to view the party gift from the night before. Typical. She looked like every other girl he brought home. Long limbed, fresh, and tanned, her hungry eyes were eager to have a chance to slay the dragon.