The Inspector
From the throbbing pain behind his eyeballs, he knew he should not have had so much champagne. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, and the taste was a combination of dragon breath and barroom floor. Another hour or so in bed would help diminish the effects, surely? He groaned to himself as the knowledge that he was supposed to go to work this morning crawled to the front of his aching brain and then collapsed like a mortally wounded soldier. No lingering, then.
He tried to recall at what point in the evening he should have known enough to start drinking coffee. The harder he tried to pinpoint the moment, the more he realized most of what happened after the two PCs refused to drive him and his sergeant home was blank. Nor could he recall how he eventually got home and got himself to bed. He was definitely getting too old for this.
But he had been uncomfortable at the noisy party, and the champagne had helped him relax. And when she kissed his cheek, he became completely unnerved. He self-administered more fizz in response. Stupid, really. For all he knew, he had made a complete fool of himself. Very stupid.
He needed to get moving. What time was it, anyway? He slowly opened his eyes, the sand behind his lids abrading his already-tender eyeballs. He found he was looking at the back of a woman's head. Her head. His eyes flew open wide now, and he cast them around the room with growing alarm. Not his room. Oh, no. He could tell from the décor and effects that this room was not his. This was her bedroom. And he was in it. In her bed. And, as he realized with a jolt, he was stark naked under the bedclothes.
In full panic, he tried to scrape up the dried scum of last night from his memory. God, what had he done? Did she put him here when he passed out, undressing him for his own comfort? Had he crawled here, stripped off his clothes thinking he was home, and she found him later? Or had something more . . . involved occurred?
Then she let out a sigh and began to stir. He slammed his lids shut and lay perfectly still, trying to steady his breathing and keep it slow and deep, feigning sleep. Dear God, I swear I will never drink alcohol again.