I can’t deny it hits the spot. I swallow the other half of the triangle and recline back into my cloud.
He’s frantically typing something on his phone now.
“Done. Can we be less boring now?” I ask.
But my stomach sinks as the reality hits me.
Yikes. I must look like a total mess to this stranger who thinks I’m a lush in distress.
Make that a lush who stupidly brought him home with a twisted ankle, offering to practically throw herself at him.
What am I doing? I owe him an explanation.
Heck, I owe myself one.
“Listen, mister, I’m sorry if this is so...weird. It’s been a crazy evening. I don’t mean to string you along or make you think I do this with every guy I—”
“Hang on. I need to finish a very important email. Why don’t you rest your eyes a minute?”
I am a little tired, especially with the mood souring. I just wish I knew why one glass of wine and a miserable dud make me feel like I’ve been flattened by a bus.
“...maybe a power nap would be good. Can you take a rain check on meeting up again?” Does he hear me? My voice feels faint.
Opening my eyes again, I tug on his left hand, remembering I know nothing about this man except that he apparently rocks the dark knight aura like it was custom made for him.
His eyes lock on mine. I trace his ring finger.
“No ring. Nice,” I whisper.
Who says all the good ones are married?
He glares at me with something worse than annoyance, but when he speaks, his voice is eerily level. “Rest up, and I’ll let myself out as soon as I get through this email.”
Is it the ring comment? What a weird thing to get mad about.
Eyes like loaded pistols are the last thing I see before he leaves...or I fall asleep.
I’m not sure which happens first.
When I open my eyes again, it’s early morning, and I’m left wondering if my hero with the stormy gaze ever existed.
And if he did, would I ever have the guts to see him again sober?
2
A Holly Headache (Ward)
This is not how my night was supposed to go.
I hit the museum to lose my edge and part of my mind, a ritual cleansing I do several times each month. I’d planned to get high on brilliant art and forget about the stress at the office and the void back home.
Peace and quiet is a treasure, and apparently, I’m not worthy.
Because stumbling into the obnoxiously drunk girl and shepherding her home before she could become a wolf’s dinner was a screaming slap to the face. Miss One Glass even looked cute demolishing my evening and trampling on every last nerve—at first—but when she flippantly mentioned her new job?
When she announced she’d soon be a daily thorn in my ass?
Fuck. I didn’t lose my shit so much as catapulted it into lunar orbit.
I’ll just finish this email before I leave, make sure she’s peacefully asleep, and never lay eyes on her again.
She dozes now in slow, rhythmic breaths, smacking her full pink lips, every now and then releasing this tiny hiccup of a snore.
It might be cute if she wasn’t a loud, messy, butterscotch-blond kill shot to my sanity. But she’ll be fine soon, and so will I without having her up in my business.
Hell. I went to the museum for a distraction, and maybe some inspiration.
If I had to chaperone her away from booze and a pond scum little boy, what would having her in the office be like?
We’re not finding out.
Don’t get me wrong. I heroed her like any decent man would. I couldn’t leave her marooned with a potentially dangerous fuckboy, or have her stumbling in front of a moving bus.
Unfortunately, it’s still possible to be a Brandt and have a conscience.
But if you think I’m above nipping this problem right in its adorable little blond, green-eyed bud, and damn all the consequences?
I never pretended to be a saint.
Gritting my teeth, I shake my head, remembering how she insisted it was just one glass.
Yeah, sweetheart, if glass means bottle.
My thumb cramps from pounding at my phone. I move my hand away and shake it out. My left ring finger catches my eye.
Did she have to point out there’s no ring?
Do I walk around with an invisible dark halo that tells the world, ladies, run. This asshole is anti-marriage material.
Maria breaking off the engagement was supposed to be the worst part. I didn’t think I’d have total strangers rubbing