Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 151430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 606(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 606(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
And then my excitement catches up with me and I let out a loud hiccup.
Blushing, I cover my mouth. “Just air. Not drunk. I swear.”
“Right,” he snorts. “You don’t have to impress me. I’m not in charge of policing chicks who like to party too hard.”
We cross the threshold to my room and he lays me down gently on my bed. It’s like I’m floating on a cloud as another hiccup lurches out of me before I can clap a hand over my mouth.
“Yikes. I’m not normally like this,” I whisper, hiding my face.
“Be right back.”
By the time I register he’s gone, he’s standing beside my bed again. Why isn’t he kissing me yet? Is he one of those “take it slow” guys? Is it the hiccups?
Or is it the fact that we’re total flipping strangers?
Ice prickles my face, and I jerk up.
“Drink this.” He hands me the water bottle he’s just held to my cheek.
“Water? I’m not that thirsty.”
“Do it,” he barks.
“Jeez. Fine, Bossypants.” I open the water bottle, a brand I recognize from my fridge, and take a swig.
His knuckles brush against my free hand. I draw in a breath at the sensation. My palm opens and he places something in it. “Take these.”
I glance down at my hand to see two Tylenol, then flash him a befuddled look.
“You’re going to have the hangover headache from hell in the morning to go with that twisted ankle. The pills will help with both.”
“Ugh, I told you, I only had one glass of—”
“Whine? You’re very good at it. Less talking, more drinking,” he growls. His eyes are like hot teal-blue heat rays.
Sighing, I gulp down the pills.
He taps on my nightstand, drawing my attention to it.
I glance over. There’s a sandwich cut into two neat triangles there. Wow, he’s thought of everything.
“Eat.”
“Why?” But all questions aside, I’m actually hungry.
My stomach gurgles at the sight. The original plan was the art museum and then dinner or happy hour snacks somewhere nice, but Nameless kept us at the bar way too long.
“Because your questions are annoying as hell. And you just might feel better having something solid in your gut,” he grinds out.
Well...good answer.
He pulls out his phone and starts tapping at the screen.
Giving in to Mr. Congeniality, I pick up a triangle and devour half of it in one bite. Salami, cheese, lettuce, and mayo. Simple, but tasty.
I’ll have to brush my teeth now, but I can’t deny it hits the spot. I swallow the other half of the triangle and recline back into my cloud.
He’s frantically typing something on his phone now.
“Done. Can we be less boring now?” I ask.
But my stomach sinks as the reality hits me.
Yikes. I must look like a total mess to this stranger who thinks I’m a lush in distress.
Make that a lush who stupidly brought him home with a twisted ankle, offering to practically throw herself at him.
What am I doing? I owe him an explanation.
Heck, I owe myself one.
“Listen, mister, I’m sorry if this is so...weird. It’s been a crazy evening. I don’t mean to string you along or make you think I do this with every guy I—”
“Hang on. I need to finish a very important email. Why don’t you rest your eyes a minute?”
I am a little tired, especially with the mood souring. I just wish I knew why one glass of wine and a miserable dud make me feel like I’ve been flattened by a bus.
“...maybe a power nap would be good. Can you take a rain check on meeting up again?” Does he hear me? My voice feels faint.
Opening my eyes again, I tug on his left hand, remembering I know nothing about this man except that he apparently rocks the dark knight aura like it was custom made for him.
His eyes lock on mine. I trace his ring finger.
“No ring. Nice,” I whisper.
Who says all the good ones are married?
He glares at me with something worse than annoyance, but when he speaks, his voice is eerily level. “Rest up, and I’ll let myself out as soon as I get through this email.”
Is it the ring comment? What a weird thing to get mad about.
Eyes like loaded pistols are the last thing I see before he leaves...or I fall asleep.
I’m not sure which happens first.
When I open my eyes again, it’s early morning, and I’m left wondering if my hero with the stormy gaze ever existed.
And if he did, would I ever have the guts to see him again sober?
2
A Holly Headache (Ward)
This is not how my night was supposed to go.
I hit the museum to lose my edge and part of my mind, a ritual cleansing I do several times each month. I’d planned to get high on brilliant art and forget about the stress at the office and the void back home.