Free Turn Up the Heat by Kimberly Kincaid

don’t have . . .”
    An inch-long bruise the size of a nickel glared at her from her reflection, as if it was made of spite.
    â€œOh, you’ve got to be kidding me!” She leaned toward the glass until she was so close that her breath fogged her reflection. The bruise wasn’t big or terribly swollen, but it was definitely noticeable.
    She would never, ever try to look cool in front of a guy again. Who gave a shit what Shane Griffin thought, anyway?
    Well, apparently she did, because she’d been so torqued up over breezing past him that she’d smashed into a stupid pole.
    â€œIt’s really not as bad as I thought it would be, considering how nasty it looked. I bet it hurts like a bitch, though.” Jenna sat down on the edge of the bed while Bellamy examined the bruise from every possible angle.
    â€œOh! You’re up,” Holly said, bouncing into the room. “I brought you a couple of things from the store. You know, for your head injury.” She held up a plastic bag that was full to the point of straining.
    â€œOkay, you guys, really? It’s just a bump,” Bellamy griped, padding back to the bed with a mug of coffee between her palms.
    Holly ignored her and opened the bag with glee. “Motrin, one every four to six hours for pain. The pharmacist said for a really bad headache, you could even take two. Portable cold packs—you really should ice it again, you know. Look how cool these are, all you do is just . . .”
    â€œI’m pretty sure I know how to take Motrin.” Bellamy scowled, then blew out a breath. “Sorry. I know you’re just worried. But really, it’s fine.”
    Holly peered at her, unfazed. “S’ok. I thought kissing the hot mechanic guy last night might improve your mood, but I guess not. Was he a bad kisser?”
    â€œNo!” The need to deny that the whole thing even happened propelled the answer out of Bellamy before she heard its implications. Neither of her friends skipped a beat.
    â€œSo he was a good kisser? He looked like a good kisser,” Holly mused.
    Jenna broke in, snagging a scone from the tray before sitting back on the bed. “Told you he’s hot.”
    â€œI hate you both,” Bellamy muttered without malice. She should have known they’d do this. Hell, if the shoe was on the other foot, she wouldn’t hesitate to dole out a little friendly ribbing.
    â€œWe’re okay with that. You’re the only one of the three of us who scored last night. Come on! Dish a little,” Jenna said, scrunching up her nose.
    â€œI didn’t score . To be honest, I think the whole thing was a mistake. And why do you look like you just bit into a lemon?” Bellamy took a long swallow of coffee, and the warming sensation helped lift the edges of her hangover.
    â€œThese scones are like hockey pucks. Go with the bagels if you value your life.” Jenna tossed the half-eaten scone back on the tray with a thunk.
    â€œThat’s what happens when you overwork your dough.” Bellamy shrugged, taking a cinnamon raisin bagel from the platter and tearing off a hunk. “Hey, toss that Motrin over here, would you?” It was as close as she would get to admitting that her head really did hurt.
    â€œSo you’re not going to give up any details about your rendezvous with Mr. Goodwrench? Really?” Holly poured some orange juice for Bellamy to swallow the pills, looking disappointed.
    â€œI would, but there aren’t any. I told you, it was a mistake,” Bellamy mumbled around the Motrin.
    Jenna laughed. “What, like forgetting to pay your cable bill? Come on!”
    Bellamy blushed, heat creeping all the way up to her ears. “No. I meant the kind of mistake that involves beer goggles,” she said, ripping her bagel into tiny pieces.
    â€œUm, you’ve got some rose-colored beer goggles, sweetheart. Jenna’s right. That man is fine.” Holly