Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
“You’re not leaving, are you?” my sister says with a pout from across the table, taking another shot.
“I need to get home before I do something stupid,” I tell her honestly, hearing a few chuckles from the men surrounding us.
“I’ll give you a ride,” Mic says softly next to me, and my eyes slide to him.
“You would be the somethin’ stupid,” I tell him, and he smiles bigger, placing his hand on the back of my chair and leaning slightly in to me. At his move, I lean back and blurt, “I’m still in love with my ex-husbeen.”
Blinking, he leans back then rumbles, “Fuck.”
“Ezzactly.” I nod then let out a breath, looking around the table. Everyone has been drinking, and my dad taught us from the time we were young to never, not ever, get in a car with anyone who has even had one beer.
“You hab your phone?” I ask my sister sitting across the table from me when her eyes meet mine.
“It’s in Wes’s room. Where’s yours?”
I bite my lip again. I never have my cell. The stupid thing is annoying, so I constantly leave it behind. I should probably start carrying it. “At home,” I tell her, and she nods like it makes total sense then looks at Wes.
“Can we give her a ride?” she whispers, or she tries to, but she’s so drunk it comes out loudly and everyone at the table looks at her.
“She can stay here,” he replies, running his thumb over her bottom lip.
“Can we stay here too?” she asks, leaning in to him and biting his thumb. His answer is a growl. Dragging my eyes from them, I look around. I don’t want to stay here, but I’m so drunk, things are starting to look a little—or a lot—blurry.
“Come on. I’ll get you settled,” Mic says quietly, helping me out of the chair I planted myself in a few hours—or minutes—ago. I’m not sure how long it’s been.
“Thaaanks,” I slur, leaning in to him. I don’t even know where he leads me. I hear him talking to someone, but my mind is so fuzzy I can’t even tell what he’s saying. The second I’m directed to a bed, though, I lie down face-first and pass out.
*
I semi-awaken as I feel warmth and smell something I swear my soul recognizes as its own. I don’t want to open my eyes. I don’t want this feeling coursing though me to end. Breathing steadily, I let my body absorb the feeling of the hand wrapped around my waist, the steady breath at the back of my neck, and the weight settled against me. I know I’m going to wake up and this is going to be a dream, so I want to consume all of it, memorize every single second. This is like every other time I’ve woken up thinking Evan is with me—that his arms are holding me, that he still loves me—only now I know what we had isn’t what I made it out to be.
A hand rises, cupping my breast, and the hard length of a man presses against my ass. Squeezing my eyes closed, I pray I’m still dreaming, pray I didn’t do something fucking stupid last night and didn’t make my fucked-up life even more fucked up.
Cracking my eyes open, I see a plain white wall in front of me. My eyes drop to my chest, and sure enough, there’s a large hand wrapped around my breast.
I have no idea what I did last night. The whole night is a complete blur, but I don’t remember getting into bed with anyone. Scooting carefully across the expanse of the bed so I don’t disturb my bed partner, I finally get free and roll off the side, putting one knee and one hand on the floor at a time until I’m on all fours. Lifting my head over the edge of the bed, I see…Evan? His eyes are closed, his face soft in sleep.
“How the hell did you get here?” I ask under my breath, dropping my forehead to the floor.
“I put you here last night,” Evan answers from above, but I pretend I don’t hear him as I attempt to scoot under the bed to hide, but the frame is too low to the floor.
His hand touches my back and my head flies up.
“Morning,” he whispers, running his fingers along my hairline.
Blinking, I look around. Even knowing he’s talking to me, I still try to see if there is someone else he’s talking to so softly. I’ve missed his gentle voice more than I will ever admit. I missed all of him, but I really missed how soft he always was with me, how he treated me like I was something delicate, something he needed to take care of, something he cherished above anything else.