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Blame It On The Rum
On The Rocks
Copyright © 2021 by Shaw Hart
www.shawhart.com
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage or retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic, photocopying, mechanical or otherwise, without express permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, story lines and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events, locales or any events or occurrences are purely coincidental.
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He’s the worst best thing that’s ever happened to me.
Walking around with Hayes Montrose is like walking around with an angry thundercloud hovering above your head.
He’s too big, too grumpy, and entirely too attractive.
So, what’s he doing with a frumpy wallflower like me?
I have no idea and he won’t tell me.
All I do know is that it started five days ago when I walked into the bar that he works at and he’s been glued to my side ever since.
I should be annoyed by his bossy attitude or sick of him always watching me, but the big guy is growing on me.
Until he tells me what happened the first night that we met.
Now I’m just wondering which of us is crazier.
And why being with him feels so right.
ChapterOne
Betty
Well, last night was a mistake.
That’s the first coherent thought that I have as I wake up in a stranger’s bed the day after with my head pounding and my mouth tasting like I licked the bottom of a garbage can. I search my brain, trying to remember what happened, where I am, and how I ended up here, but it’s all just a kaleidoscope of random images and sounds.
I wince as I roll over and when my stomach threatens to revolt, I give up and lie back down on my back. I have to close my eyes because it feels like the room is spinning and I decide right then and there that I am never drinking again. This is all the rum’s fault.
After a few minutes, I try again. I need to get out of there before whoever’s bed I’m in comes back.
“Ugh,” I groan as I move to sit up, pushing my wild red hair out of my eyes.
I look around the room. Thankfully I’m the only one here and it looks like the other side of the bed is undisturbed, so chances are that I slept alone too. I’m still wearing my clothes too, and I let out a sigh. It would suck to not remember losing my virginity.
The room is pretty bare, just a bed and dresser. There are no mementos on the wall, just a gorgeous painting of a sunset on the wall by the door leading to the bathroom. I wonder if they just moved in. Whoever they are.
I climb out of bed and pad over to the bathroom. It’s obviously a man’s place, judging by the lack of feminine products or touches. A razor sits on the sink next to a toothbrush holder, a tube of toothpaste, and a bottle of soap.
I look even worse than I thought that I would when I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I hurry to go to the bathroom and splash some water on my face. When that does nothing, I grab the soap and wash my face again. It doesn’t really help with the mascara circles under my eyes, but I at least feel a little better, a little more awake.
