Love Her - Andrea Johnston

Chapter 1

Connor

Cotton mouth is a poor description for what is happening right now. It’s more like tasting death by way of too much whiskey and not enough common sense. Gliding my tongue across my teeth, I cringe at the feeling and then immediately regret the sudden movement, a wave of nausea running through me.

A soft hand glides across my stomach, a purr responding to the feeling of my abs beneath her fingers. The feeling of warmth rushes through my veins as the same hand slips beneath the sheet. Fuck, how much whiskey did I drink last night? I don’t do sleepovers and I sure as shit don’t do mornings after.

Gripping her wrist, I lift her hand to my lips, placing a kiss on the palm and sending a do-not-engage order to my dick. Hopefully, he’s a better soldier than I was and doesn’t engage.

“Not this mornin’, darlin’.”

Lifting up on her elbow, my guest pushes her bottom lip out like a child not getting to play with her favorite toy. I get it. I rocked her world last night and she wants more. Sadly, she’ll have to find it somewhere else.

“Why not, baby? I’m happy to start your day off with my lips wrapped—”

Before she can finish her sentence, I rise from the bed, my bare backside enough of a distraction to keep her quiet while I tug my discarded jeans from last night over my hips. Not bothering to button them, I reach down and toss her dress onto the bed.

Padding away from the makeshift bedroom, which is really just a corner of the small apartment where my bed is pushed against the wall, I leave her mumbles in my wake. Calling it an apartment is being kind. Before I moved in, it was more of a storage space behind the bar than anything else. Moving to the kitchenette, I go about scooping coffee grounds into the basket and filling the carafe with water before setting the machine to brew. Flipping the faucet, I scoop some water into my mouth, swishing it around and spitting in the sink. I really need to brush my teeth. Perhaps with a nylon brush by the godawful taste in my mouth but this will work while I wait for my first cup of joe.

The first drop of brewing coffee hits the glass bottom just as a throat clears behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I see the beautiful redhead from last night standing barefoot next to my couch, her arms crossed over her chest.

This is why I don’t do sleepovers. It’s why I keep things casual and usually don’t hookup with customers. Now, it will be awkward the next time she’s in Country Road, and if she creates any sort of scene, Taylor will have my ass. My buddy and boss is a cool guy, but he’s warned me about dipping my straw in the clientele. Putting on a smile, I stalk toward her. Eyes wide, a coy smile appears on her lips.

I know she wants me to kiss her. To lift the hem of her dress and bend her over this couch. To drop to my knees and make her drip in ecstasy. Even my dick likes the idea, but I won’t do it. Rules. I have them for a reason.

Gripping her neck, I pull her toward me, her hands resting on my hips before I place a gentle kiss to her forehead. Scarlett says the forehead kiss is ridiculous and offensive. Actually, I think her words were “The forehead kiss is for schmucks and douchebags.” Then her fiancé kissed her forehead and she melted into a puddle of emotions before my eyes.

“I had a good time last night. Will you be okay getting home? Do you need me to call a cab or rideshare?”

Jerking back, her eyes go from wide and hopeful to narrowed and dripping with venom.

“I guess that was it. One good night of fucking and you’re all done with me?”

“It’s nothing personal, darlin’. We had fun. Friends?”

I pop that dimple my mama said could get me out of any pickle while giving her hip a little squeeze. Like clockwork, I watch the woman before me turn her scowl into a smile. Nodding, she reaches over the couch and grabs her purse. I step back, allowing her the space to gather her belongings.

When she pulls her key fob from her purse and pushes the button a few times toward the door, I suddenly recall her moving her car closer to my

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