Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76272 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76272 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
As soon as I hit the warm air of the boardwalk, a big hand wraps around my bicep. “Where are you going? You’re drunk and it’s dangerous around here at night.”
I shake my arm but that doesn’t cut him loose. “I’d like to be alone please.”
He snorts. “Yeah, no. I’m not leaving you alone. I got us a room down the street at a hotel,” he informs me. “It’s not the Four Seasons, but it’s clean and comfortable.”
“A room as in one room? That’s rather presumptuous of you.”
He stifles laughter. “Presumptuous? I’m pretty sure you wanted me to take your cherry right there in the bar. I’m not leaving you alone. You’re vulnerable right now and someone could take advantage of that.”
“Someone other than you, you mean.”
I glance up into his glossy laughing eyes.
“Don’t laugh at me. Don’t you laugh at me!”
So what does he do––he laughs. And wraps me in his arms, holding me close, his face buried in my hair as his body shakes with laughter. His scent infuses my lungs and his heat seeps into my bones and his strength makes me want to climb him and…and uh, that went somewhere dark fast.
“Holy shit, you’re a sassy drunk.”
“I’m not that drunk!” But the sound is muffled by his t-shirt and his muscles.
“You are very drunk. You haven’t stammered once since you finished your first glass of Unicorn Tears.”
Oh my gosh, he’s right.
I push at his sculpted, shaking-with-laughter-chest and he tightens his grip on me.
“I’m not ever going to offer you my cherry again! You had your chance like…two times––and you blew it, buddy. You blew it.”
His laughter fades and he glances down at me with a halfcocked grin. “This is the part where I say I’ve got something for you to blow.” Then he starts laughing all over again.
“Uhhhh. Uhhhh. Uhhh,” I moan into my pillow and it’s not a happy moan. That’s the sound of pain. My head feels like it’s going to explode. I wish it would. At least I’d be out of my misery.
I smack my lips. Dry. I run my tongue along them. Pasty. I open my eyes to a room flooded with sunlight. The decor is modern, the sheets clean…the day-core. I recall saying that word ten times last night when we walked in. Serves me right if he never wants to see me again.
Apparently being drunk is not an excuse for amnesia. I remember everything in crystal clarity. The laughing, the angels I was making on the king-sized bed, falling asleep on his chest.
Holding my breath, I lift the sheet and exhale when I see I’m still wearing my bra and underwear, the good ones. I packed only the good stuff in the very slim chance that Dallas were to accidentally hit his head and started seeing me as one of the bookends. They made a movie about that very same scenario. Anyway, spoiler alert: it has not happened…yet.
An image of Dallas lying in bed with his hands tucked behind his head watching me get undressed invades my painful head. I finally understand what the walk of shame means.
That’s when I recognize the sound of running water turning off, which tells me he’s out of the shower. Sweet baby pigs. I scramble out of bed to put some clothes on. It’s one thing for him to see me in the dim, forgiving light of night. It’s another in broad daylight. With perfect timing, the bathroom door opens as I’m hopping on one leg, trying to shove my jeans on.
“Morning,” he says all perky, his voice having an extra sexy scratch to it. “How do you feel?”
Turning, I hide my face under the safety of my messy hair. “Umm. N-not g-great, but you know…I’ll live.” There’s so much to apologize for where do I even start.
Slowly, I stand and meet his open smiling face for a nanosecond. That’s all the courage I can muster without a triple-shot latte to bolster me. Then I button my jeans and grab my blousy shirt off the a chair. “I-I-I need to apologize,” I mumble, pulling the shirt on over my head.
“Why would you apologize?”
Because I was a hoochie who threw herself at you. “Because I-I was…out of line.”
“You’re missing the point. That’s the only reason to get wasted…” He examines me cautiously. “I had a great time. Didn’t you?”
The time of my life. I’ve never been so uninhibited––and it was fun. Being wild is fun. “Yeah.” More mumbling. A dull pain tugs at my side. I remember the tattoo and I lose my train of thought.
In relation to nothing, I announce, “I n-need to t-take a shower,” loudly.
“Okay,” he says, snickering.
That’s when I glance up and realize Dallas is wearing a towel around his waist and nothing else, and it’s like my senses get a jump start. Everything fires awake despite the raging hangover. Every detail is amplified times ten.