Page 43 of Wild Abandon

“After you passed out, your phone starting blowing up with texts from her, so I texted her back and told her you were safe.”

Thumbing through my text messages, I see that Nate and Naomi sent a few messages back and forth last night. Some about my whereabouts and then some about what drunk Crystal is like.

“I don’t snore,” I scowl at him.

“Yes, you do. And Naomi confirmed you only do when you drink.”

Traitor. I am going to have a talk with that woman. And how did she know this random guy texting her wasn’t a crazed killer who had me tied up in bed? He could have been a sex freak.

Speaking of which, I ask, “Do I even want to know why I’m naked?”

Nate laughs into his cup and then puts it down on the counter, smashing his lips together, trying to contain the smile. “You stripped”—he points to the middle of the living room—“right there.”

My eyes are seriously bugging out of my head. I can feel them stretching and widening.

“We didn’t…” I make a hand motion, pointing from him to me and back.

“No”—the smirk vanishes from his face—“we did not.”

I let out a huge breath and sink into one of the chairs. “Thank God.”

“I offered you my shirt, but you passed out, ass up, in my bed, so I just let you sleep.” He opens a cabinet. “You were in no condition to drive last night, and you wouldn’t tell me where you lived, so I brought you here.”

Holding my sheet tight with my left hand, I rub my temple with my right. My head hurts, but it’s not as bad as it should be, considering the amount of whiskey I consumed.

Nate holds up a coffee cup in asking. I nod my head and accept. A nice hot cup of caffeine will do wonders.

“I had you drink a shit-ton of water before you passed out. There’s Tylenol on the table behind you.” Nate pours my coffee and pours Sambuca into it before handing it to me.

I pop a few pain relievers and take a drink of my coffee. “Thank you”—looking down at the table, I see a pile of mail—“Nathaniel Teller.”

As he rests both hands along the counter behind him, his chest and biceps twist and curl beneath the fabric of his T-shirt. He looks different in the daylight. His eyes are lighter, brighter, and his skin is clearer. Even his smile seems to make a few more appearances in the daylight.

If I recall correctly, he smiled a lot last night.

“I had fun last night,” I offer.

“Me, too.” He looks down with a grin. “I had to put a wee-wee pad under you in case you pissed yourself.”

“Nate!” I scream, temporarily losing my sheet when I go to raise my hand in frustration but then bring it back. When it is back around my shoulders and snug tight, I add, “I am not an animal!”

Nate shrugs and twists his face. “I didn’t know what kind of drunk you were. You talk a lot when you drink,” he says with annoyance in his voice, but the crook of his mouth says otherwise.

Nate’s dog comes barreling out of his room and nearly knocks me over when he smashes into me for attention.

“Willie!” Nate’s voice is commanding yet ineffective.

“That’s okay. I love animals.” I squat down and wrap the sheet under my armpits to free my hands, so I can pet the big lug. “Hey there, Willie. You’re a good boy. Yes, you are.”

Willie turns into me as I pet him behind the ears.

“What kind of name is Willie for a rott? Aren’t they supposed to have names like Maximus or Brute?” I say these names with a baby voice as I nuzzle my nose against sweet Willie.

“His full name is Willie Mays.”

I cock my head at Nate. “The baseball player?”

He points to the San Francisco Giants logo on his cap.