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His eyes did a slow roll down to her hand and he took the joint, took another hit then pinched out the end.
“You look thoroughly baked,” she told him. His face was relaxed, his body appeared boneless and his eyes unfocused.
“Feel baked,” was his delayed response.
She smiled. She was not into guys who liked to get falling down, sloppy drunk or who turned into abusive monsters, like Billy Warren had. But Rev was pretty chill when he drank. She also understood his need to calm the turmoil deep inside him.
She wanted to ask him about the cause of that turmoil, but tonight was not the night. She had a feeling they’d be in town at least a few more days. Especially if he kept to his word about wanting to be at his father’s side when he passed.
She didn’t understand it but it wasn’t for her to understand. They had both had shitty parents. It was true, having shitty parents deeply affected their lives. But how they dealt with it might not be the same.
She assumed he had just forgotten them, put that life behind him, just like she had hers, until he got that damn phone call. If she had only known, she would’ve thrown the message away and spared him all of this.
She grabbed her drink off the nightstand next to her. “Rev?”
“Yeah?”
“For tonight, let’s just say ‘fuck the rules.’” She lifted her plastic cup between them and tapped it lightly against the bottle he was drinking from.
She took a long swig of her Jack and Coke and smiled. No, that wasn’t quite right. She took a long swig, hiccuped when the strong whiskey hit her gut, then smiled.
“Yeah, buddercup, lesh juss get fucked up in… shtead.”
He was already standing on that precipice. It wouldn’t take much more for him to tumble head first to the bottom. But she’d stick around and help cushion that fall for as long as he needed her. Whether he’d admit he needed her or not.
During that time, if he wanted to talk about anything, she’d be there to listen.
The guys complained she talked too much but she was pretty damn good at listening, too.
They’d taken her in like she was family. Well, after some strong-arming on her part. But even before she was deeply entrenched in the club, whenever she needed help, they stepped in. Like when it came to the whole dangerous mess with Billy Warren.
So, it was only right she help Rev, or any of them, when they needed it.
Rev being shit-faced after dealing with his family was proof this was the time he needed that help the most.
Chapter Seven
With the engine shut off and the keys already stuffed deep in his pocket, Rev sat in his Bronco.
He was in agony this morning, even after stopping at a convenience store for a large black coffee and a bottle of aspirin. His head pounded, his patience was paper thin and he had the damn shakes. He was pretty fucking sure every cell in his body was pickled and he most likely smelled like it, too.
He normally didn’t drink that much and, fuck, if he’d be drinking that much again any time soon. He’d just about kicked that bottle. By himself. Because of that, he passed out sometime in the night.
Earlier, when he finally pulled himself free of his alcohol-induced coma, he’d found himself flat on his back in the middle of the queen-sized bed, still wearing his unbuttoned jeans, with Reilly’s warm, soft body curled around his.
She was knocked out cold and snoring softly since she must have overdone it, too.
Unfortunately, he didn’t have much memory of it. Things had gotten a bit fuzzy after she’d joined him. Of course, she had to come into his room wearing that blue silky shit, trying to make it even more difficult for him to resist her.
Even worse, while she slept, the T-shirt he insisted she wear had pushed up enough he could see her long, bare legs. And, even as fucked as his head was from his hangover, he could not forget the way her hard nipples had pressed through that damn thin fabric the night before.
He’d rubbed a hand over his own nipples, causing a pleasurable pull from his barbells all the way to his toes and also made his morning wood flex in his jeans.
He continued sliding his hand down his chest, his abs, and then over his hard-on. If he was still wearing his jeans, and Reilly his shirt, he could safely assume they hadn’t had crazy drunken sex last night.
Thank fuck.
Because if he was going to break that particular rule, he, at least, wanted to remember it.
Her mouth was parted and her long, messy blonde hair covering most of her face. After sweeping a few strands away until he exposed the scar along her temple, he lightly traced a finger over it.
