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The little waver in his voice cut through some of the fuzz in her brain. Nate had rarely seen her drink. And he’d definitely never seen her tipsy. Their mom had liked alcohol way too much, and she’d been drinking the night she’d died, so Marin had avoided it for most of her life. Only in the last year had she allowed herself an occasional beer or glass of wine. But alcohol still meant scary, ugly things for Nate. He never touched the stuff. And she hated that she was making him worry for even a second.
She took a deep breath, centering herself and trying to clear her head of the buzz to focus. “I’m fine, kiddo. I met with a co-worker and had a few glasses of wine to celebrate getting through the first day. Obviously, my tolerance sucks. This won’t be a regular thing. And the porn site really is for work research.”
The glimmer of tension in Nate’s expression softened. He gave a quick nod. “All right.”
She lifted her phone. “Thanks for the info.”
He gave her a wry smile. “I would say have fun, but then I might vomit.”
She laughed. “Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
She trudged to her room and collapsed onto her bed.
In one day, she’d managed to piss off a client, almost kiss her co-worker in front of his girlfriend, and get porn recommendations from her little brother.
She might not survive day two.
14
Donovan was thinking about Marin. About almost kisses and soulful hazel eyes. About cicada songs and secrets shared in the dark. About all the things he wanted to do with her, to her. The fantasy was great. But he vaguely registered that Marin wasn’t the one who was currently kissing down his neck.
He tried to fit the disjointed pieces of the current state of affairs together, tried to make sense of what was happening. Everything felt wrong. Why did it feel wrong? He concentrated. Elle. He was on Elle’s couch. How the fuck had he gotten here again? Like hillbillies on moonshine, his thoughts were stumbling around and bumping into each other, slow and sloppy. Focus. He tried to will his mind to orient itself. Memories came back in wisps. Elle had asked to talk to him back at her place since he’d canceled on her earlier in the night.
He hadn’t wanted to follow her here. He’d been knotted up with all that had transpired with Marin. But Marin had walked off, and he’d known Elle was pissed about
finding the two of them together. So even though he and Elle didn’t have any kind of exclusive arrangement and he hadn’t touched her in a month, he’d felt like a dick anyhow and had agreed to come over to talk.
But while they were talking and he was trying to explain how this arrangement was no longer a good idea, Elle had served sangria. Lots and lots of sangria. And now Elle had crawled over to his side of the couch and was straddling him. She was taking control this time. But his head was muzzy, and though his dick was half-interested beneath her grinding movements, his mind was on someone else. He was getting turned on by images of a woman with short, dark hair who smelled like cotton candy and had cheeks that blushed at the slightest provocation. Had lips that wanted to be kissed . . .
Fuck.
He tugged away. “Elle, we need to—”
“Go to the bedroom. I know.” She pushed her long hair away from her face. “But I thought a change of scenery might be nice. You can fight to be on top.”
She pulled her T-shirt over her head, revealing lace-encased breasts, and took his hand, placing it over her and squeezing for him.
He winced and moved his hand away. His equilibrium whirled. “I’m fucking drunk, Elle.”
“Well, I can stay on top, then.” She slid her hand between them and stroked his now softening cock. “I don’t mind doing the work tonight. Just stay hard for me and we’re good.”
He grabbed her wrist to stop her, his movements imprecise and delayed. “Goddammit, can you slow down for a second? I said I was drunk.”
She rolled her eyes and sat back on his thighs to look down at him. “Are we seriously having a consent conversation right now? It’s not like you don’t know what we’re doing. This is nothing new. You’re drunk every time we fuck, Donovan. It’s your thing.”
The words rolled off her lips like it was no big deal, but they hit him like a freight truck. “My thing?”
She shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing ever.
“What? Now I’m an alcoholic?”
“Don’t be stupid. You know as well as I do that you’re not. But you never fuck sober. You drink and get to play a role. Saves you from that real inconvenient shit like intimacy and relationships and conversation.” She gave him a brittle smile. “Which is why I know you were trying to fuck your new trainee tonight.”
Donovan blinked, the accusation making it through the alcohol haze like a fiery arrow. It hit the target and sent a wave of anger rushing through him, clearing his head enough to act. He took Elle by the arms, lifted her off his lap, and stood. “I’m not trying to do anything with Marin. We’re friends. We knew each other in school.”
“Right,” Elle said from behind him, sarcasm oozing off her tone. “Just a celebratory drink and a little face stroking between friends. A few more glasses of wine, and you would’ve been parked between her legs giving her a big welcome to the neighborhood.”
