Wrong Question, Right Answer (The Bourbon Street Boys #3) - Elle Casey Page 0,13
all my strength forces him to roll over enough that he slips out of me and falls onto the floor.
There’s a big thump and a crash as he knocks things off my coffee table. “Ow,” comes his voice from the floor.
I stand up and quickly gather my bits of clothing from various places. I’m on my feet walking away by the time he’s sitting up.
“Where’re you going?” He sounds confused, which makes no sense. I’m doing what needs to be done, and he should be thanking me for it.
I take the stairs two at a time. “Away!” I yell, eager to put as much distance between us as I possibly can. I cannot believe I just had sex with Lucky. What in the hell is wrong with me? Have I not punished myself enough? Do I need to destroy him, too?
His voice follows me up the stairs. “Can I join you?”
I pause just outside my bedroom door before answering. Even though it’s tempting to continue this train wreck, I know I can’t. My life is already screwed up enough, and I don’t need to take Lucky down with me. “No!” I slam my bedroom door behind me and lock it, pausing a moment to rest my trembling hand over my racing heart before continuing on to the shower.
CHAPTER FIVE
I’m lying in my bed staring up at the ceiling when my phone buzzes a second time. The first buzz woke me. I turn my head and look at the nightstand where it’s resting. The screen is lit up, indicating there’s a message waiting.
How did it get there? I don’t remember bringing my phone up to my room. And now that I think about it, I don’t remember bringing myself up here. There’s a vague sense that something’s off in my life but I can’t quite put my finger on what it is.
I let my mind wander, attempting to put together the little clues that are trying to filter into my sleep-fogged brain. My stomach churns, reminding me that I had way too much to drink last night. Where was I? Oh yeah, I was at the pub. I was there with the team and they were late. I kicked some guy’s ass and almost got him busted up. Why don’t I remember the team being there?
A vision of Lucky’s face flashes across my mind. My heart nearly stops when I remember what we did in the alcove by the old phone booth. Oh, shit! Not again! I force my hands to stay next to me on the mattress. They want to touch my lips that are now tingling with the memory. Other parts of me begin to grow warm.
I’m remembering more: A cab ride. Lucky followed me home. Came inside. I clutch at my shirt over my chest, the pain under my ribs abrupt and sharp. Oh, God! I slept with him! I turn my head and look at my phone again. Is that him calling me? I’m both freaked out and hopeful, a sad mix of emotion.
My pillow feels damp next to my cheek. I reach up and touch my head, finding my hair wet. Did I take a shower? With Lucky? No, not with Lucky. I remember the shower, and he definitely wasn’t in it with me. But holy shit, I remember other things now. Lots of things. Feelings . . . sensations . . . hope . . . fear . . . his heavy body on mine. Heat builds between my legs.
The back of my hand rests on my hot forehead. I can’t believe I did that with him! What’s wrong with me? Do I want to completely destroy my life? Haven’t I done a really great job of that already?
I roll over, hissing out my anger. Dammit. As if my life weren’t complicated enough. I get to my feet and sway a little, the alcohol still working its black magic. I rub my stomach. Damn. I need to get something in there. Thibault’s magic no-hangover mix, for one. I walk over to the other side of my bed and pick up the phone, almost fearing I’m going to see Lucky’s name there.
I’m both relieved and disappointed to find a text from Thibault waiting for me.
T-BO: Have you seen Lucky?
His message makes no sense to me. Have I seen Lucky? I smile bitterly. Yeah, I have. Hanging over my face. The memories are coming back way too fast and way too furious: the sweat dripping off him