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Knee-high grass. Creamy fog. And the unmistakable scent of fear oozing from my pores.
I know there’s a country road right in front of me, but even drunk I recognize that staggering onto the dark pavement is not the brightest idea. I take another sip of expensive scotch, squatting down and sitting on the damp grass beside the road. I polish off the rest of the bottle with a few gulps and pluck a blade of grass in frustration.
What am I doing? Who goes on a date with a scummy MMA fighter who has STD written all over him? Actually, this is probably one of the few things he hasn’t inked on his body yet. I’d like to think I have more respect for myself than to become his flavor of the week, but thinking is not really my strong point right now.
I mentally bark at myself, Hormones, you stupid idiots! Brain, you gutless nerd!
I balance myself into a standing position. I need to try to find my way back to the cabin, despite the unsteadiness from the liquor. Then I feel a warm, strong hand on my waist. I turn around, surprised, and before I know it, two firm hands grab me by my midriff, swooping me up into a cradle hold.
“What the hell!” I scream, kicking my legs like a toddler.
“Shut up, Barbie. I’m taking you home. You were a bad first date.” I hear Ty’s familiar voice and let out a relieved groan.
“You aren’t getting your own Bachelor season either,” I sniff.
Ty laughs as he continues carrying me, striding briskly as if he is carrying a case of beer and not a 125-pound grown human being. I feel his iron-hard chest beneath the soft fabric of his shirt. His flexed biceps rub against my back; his defined six-pack presses against my waist.
But most of all…I feel drunk.
“Live by yourself?” I slur.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Your clothes smell too good. Someone else does your laundry, right?” I hiccup.
He offers me a You’re-Crazy-but-Cute smirk.
I thrust my face directly into his chiseled face. “I love your dimples.” Another hiccup. “But I’m not gonna date you, cause you’re a manwhore. What kinda stupid name is Tyler Wilder, anyway? It rhymes!”
“You will date me,” he states quietly, walking and looking straight ahead at the road. “But right now you need a bottle of water and an Advil. I recommend you stick to girlie cocktails from now on.”
“Thanks, doc. Hey, did ya’ read what they wrote about you online?” I nuzzle his neck brazenly. He smells damn good and even though I’m not drunk to the point I don’t know what I’m doing, I take advantage of my own disastrous condition. Who knows if I’ll ever get the chance to be so close to him again?
“Someone said she wanted to sit on your face,” I announce. Ty kicks the door to the cabin open and places me carefully on the rug.
“Your point?” he asks.
Hiccup.
“Must be fun being you.”
“Not so much right now.”
Hiccup.
“You can kiss me now if you want.” I close my eyes and relax backwards, resting my head on the arm of the old sofa that sits in front of the fireplace. I let out another hiccup, and this time pepper it with a sneeze.
“As much as I find you irresistible right now, and trust me, there’s nothing sexier than a woman hiccupping her way to a drunken coma, I’m going to pass.”
Wounded from his rejection, I pretend to fall asleep on the floor. It’s late and I have enough alcohol in my blood stream to supply a frat party. Besides, anything else I say is bound to count against me. I’ve already been embarrassed—twice!—by asking him to kiss me and not getting kissed.
So I keep my eyes shut when he envelops me in a fleece blanket and picks me up again, as if I’m light as a feather. I keep my eyes shut as he places me in the backseat of his Hummer and drives me back to my apartment. I keep them shut when he lifts me up, opens my door with my keys, flops me down on my bed, removes my chucks, and pulls the comforter all the way up to my chin.
I peek for a second when I hear him rummaging through my bathroom drawers, but then I shut them again when he places a bottle of water and ibuprofen on the nightstand beside me and plugs my phone into its charger. I keep them shut as he kneels down and places his warm, full lips on the bridge of my nose and kisses it for a few long seconds.
And I keep them shut even when I hear the front door bang shut.
I keep my eyes shut, but I’m not at all blind to the magic that is Ty Wilder.
Chapter Eight
I’ll never. Drink. Again.
