The Bossy Prince (Rugged and Royal #3) - Lili Valente Page 0,80
do impulsive, not even in my work. I’m a plotter, not a seat-of-my-pants wordsmith. I know exactly how the vampire clowns became vampire clowns and who they’re going to kill—and why—before I type a single word. And if I deviate from my outline, I feel anxious, unsettled, unmoored until I find my way back to the path and tie up any loose ends I’ve created.
I like the path.
I like knowing what’s coming next.
I like waking up in my own bed with my own pillow and all my memories of the night before.
I like all of that…until I snap, decide I don’t like it anymore, and do something fucking crazy. The last time I snapped, I moved to a yurt in Tibet for a month. The time before that I went cage-diving with sharks. And before that, I bought a bed and breakfast at a repo auction, without even seeing the inside. All of those things turned out okay in the end—I learned to meditate in Tibet, conquered my fear of sharks, and set my sister up as proprietor of a profitable business with only a few bumps along the way renovation-wise.
But I’m just waiting for the day when I do something impulsive that doesn’t have a happy ending. And perhaps today is that day.
I have no idea what inspired me to drink such an inadvisable amount of whiskey. But as I reach for the water bottle on the table beside me, grateful my hangover doesn’t appear to be too vicious, I vow never to do it again.
No more whiskey, no more pranks with Colin, no more…
“Pranks,” I mutter as I twist off the cap and gulp down every drop of brain-restoring liquid. I remember hiding out under the back porch at my place for what seemed like forever, waiting for Shep to come outside so we could prank him. I remember Colin having an existential crisis about his inability to write songs, and then I remember…
I remember…
“Oh no. No, no.” I sink farther down in my chair, tugging my blanket up to my chin to hide my flaming cheeks seconds before a shadow appears at the entrance to the swanky first-class cubby.
A shadow cast by the long, lanky, yet surprisingly well-muscled body of my best friend. A body I am well acquainted with seeing as I had my hands all over him last night. All over his chest, his biceps, his abs, his ass… The same lovely ass that moves across my field of vision as he climbs quietly over me to settle in his seat, clearly thinking I’m still asleep.
I squeeze my eyes shut and fight to keep my breath slow and even, but I’m a horrible actress, and Colin has superhero-like senses and reflexes. If he weren’t a rock star, he could be a ninja assassin or a cat burglar or something more wholesome that involves a similar skill set, but which I can’t think of at the moment because my mind is not naturally inclined to weave wholesome stories and because I am dying of shame.
Dying—my heart stuttering to a stop and my stomach turning to stone as Colin grabs a fistful of my blanket and tugs it down to reveal my face. “Hey there, sunshine,” he says with a grin. “How you feeling this morning?”
I shake my head and tug the blanket back up.
“That good, huh?” He chuckles and pulls it back down. “Don’t hide. Talk to me. How much do you remember?”
“Nothing,” I lie, leaping at my one chance at salvation. “Nothing between going out to hide under the porch and waking up a few minutes ago. What happened? How did we get here?”
Colin’s full lips purse, and his brown-and-amber-flecked eyes narrow. “Yeah? That’s all?” He brushes a thoughtful thumb back and forth along the line of his jaw, the pad making a soft shushing sound as it disturbs his morning whiskers. He’s rocking a seven-a.m. shadow that makes him look even more like a naughty rock star, but if memory serves, this time it isn’t Colin who can’t be trusted.
It’s me.
The killer’s call is coming from inside the house…
He leans closer. “So you don’t remember kissing me last night?”
I shake my head, wide-eyed in what I hope looks like innocence mixed with utter shock.
“No? Really?” he murmurs, resting a hand on the curve of my hip, making my skin burn even through the covers and the long skirt I’m wearing beneath. “Then I guess you don’t remember dragging me up to your room, stripping