'i met you last night when you were drunkenly patting my dog in my backyard at 3 in the morning' au
Clint groaned androlled over, throwing his arm over his eyes to shield them from the midday sun.
The sunlight persisted, and eventually he propped himself up on his elbows,
surveying his surroundings. The couch he was on was clean and new, in a tidily
and elegantly decorated living room. Please
tell me I didn’t sleep with someone, he thought.
He glanced down. He was still wearing his boxers, so that was
a good sign, though the shirt he was wearing wasn’t his, and was about three
sizes too small. Clint brought the hem up to his nose and sniffed it. Smelled like
“Ah, sleeping beauty
“Huh? Whoa!” Clint shot
up, tangled himself in his blanket, and fell on the floor. “Who are you?”
“You know, I was going
to ask you the same thing.” Clint struggled to right himself and looked at the
woman making coffee in the kitchen, shirt all rucked up. “Nice abs,” she said.
“Thanks. Um, where am
I?” he asked, pulling his shirt down. Well, the shirt. It definitely wasn’t
his. “And why am I wearing this shirt?”
She sipped her coffee. “You
really don’t remember?” He shook his head. “You were in my garden and vomited
all over your shirt, and my shoes, at about three in the morning last night.”
Clint rubbed his
scruff, still on the floor. “Right. Sorry. Was I petting your dog? I remember petting
a dog,” he said.
“That was a cat.”
“I was really drunk,
“Yes, you were.”
“How did I end up on
“Well, after slurring
something about dogs being great, I figured you weren’t much of a threat with
vomit dribbling down your shirt and problems with animal anatomy,” the woman
said. “I helped you inside and you ended up passed out on my couch after saying
something about how you ‘had to take off these goddamn pants’.” She pointed at
his jeans that were draped over the back of a chair.
Clint grimaced. “I’m
Clint. And I’m sorry,” he said with a self-deprecating little grin, tugging at
The woman tilted her
head as if to say, ‘Yeah, you should be.’ She took another sip of coffee before
asking, “Why were you in my yard to begin with?”
“I have dog radar when
“You might want to get
that radar checked out,” she said. “Or change your drinking habits.”
Clint nodded and rolled his shoulders, trying to stop the
shirt from digging into his arms.
“Busting out of that
shirt?” the woman asked, hiding a grin behind her mug.
“It’s a little tight
for my taste,” he admitted.
“It looks good on you,”
she said, putting her mug down and heading down the hallway off the kitchen. “C’mon,
the wash is probably done. Your shirt might be a little damp, but at least it’ll
“What’d you say your
name was?” Clint asked, pulling himself off the floor and out of the blanket
“I didn’t,” she called
over her shoulder. “But it’s Natasha.”
“It’s nice to meet you,