Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
I ignore her.
Gary’s bushy eyebrows slide up his forehead when I reach the main level. I nod and give him a tight grin. This is the earliest I’ve left one of his parties.
“Oof!”
I turn, and Jamie’s on the floor.
“Oh my god. I’m so sorry.” Travis, another smoke jumper, cringes. “I didn’t mean to back into you.”
“It’s fine.” I scoop her off the ground and into my arms. “She drank too much.”
“My jacket,” she mutters while squirming.
“It’s by the door.” I tighten my grip on her wiggly body. When we reach the entry, Gary’s waiting for us. “It’s the white one.” I nod to her jacket.
“Thanks for coming.” He drapes the jacket over her.
“You’re going to drop me,” Jamie whines when I step onto the porch.
“I carry a hundred and fifty pounds of equipment for miles in the heat of summer. I think I can manage to carry your drunk ass to the street without dropping you. Where are the keys?”
“Oh, look. A full moon.” She tips her head back and grins in the crisp air of the windless night as I descend the driveway to the desolate street. “Did you know that a white moon cycle results in higher rates of boy babies? That’s when you’re ovulating during a full moon.”
“I haven’t ovulated during a full moon, but sometimes I turn into a werewolf.”
She giggles. “I would love that so much. Calvin the werewolf.”
“Get your keys out so I can drive.”
“You’re drunk. I’m your driver.”
I laugh. “Cute. But no. Tonight’s not my night to die or kill anyone else.” I set her on her feet at the Jeep and hold out my hand.
“No. You’ve had too much to drink.”
“No. You’ve had too much to drink.”
A slow grin creeps up her face before she clenches my shirt and rests her forehead on my chest. Her body shakes with laughter.
“You’re so wasted,” I say under my breath.
“Why won’t you believe me?” She laughs. It’s more like a cackle.
I cup her face and kiss her—not because I want to kiss her. It’s to prove a point.
When her warm lips start to move against mine, I nearly forget the point.
I nearly forget I shouldn’t want to kiss her.
So I end it before it ends something in me, like all my common sense. Her hands fly to my wrists, eyes flared.
“See? If you were sober, you wouldn’t have let me kiss you,” I say.
Shock continues to paralyze her expression. Is she breathing?
A car drives past us, its musty exhaust lingering while the brakes squeak as it slows down to pull into the driveway.
“Give me the key,” I say.
After a few more seconds, she releases my wrists and slips a hand into her purse to retrieve her keys. As I reach for them, she pulls them away. “If you were sober, you would not have done that. Get in the Jeep. We never speak of this again because I’m not letting you get me kicked out of the house.” She marches around the front of the Jeep to the driver’s side.
How can a nurse be so irresponsible?
I jog after her. “The fun’s over. There’s no fucking way I’m letting you drive.”
When I reach for the keys, she hugs them and angles her chest away from me. “Calvin Fitzgerald, get your stubborn, controlling ass in my Jeep. I am not drunk.”
“I watched you down over six cocktails in less than ninety minutes.” I bear-hug her from behind and slide my hand between her chest and crossed arms to steal the keys.
“Calvin, stop!” She wriggles. “I’m not drunk! They were mocktails. Virgin drinks.”
I halt my pursuit of the keys. She stumbles a few feet from the door, breathing heavily. Cheeks and nose colored pink from the air.
Fuck.
She blows her hair out of her face. “I’m your person. I know you ate two plates of food. You lost a game of darts and two games of pool. You talked to a dozen guys and four women. I know you drank one bottle of beer. And you didn’t impregnate the elementary school music teacher because I met him. His name is Mitch, and his wife is six months pregnant with their first child.”
I manage a few blinks before I find a weak voice. “You let me think you were drunk.”
“I did no such thing. You made an assumption, and I laughingly played along. But I thought you knew the truth, the way I knew the truth about you. Then you”—she stabs her hands in the air between us—“kissed me. If Will and Maren find out, it’s on you. I’m not moving out. You did this. A controlling Capricorn.”
This woman and her moons. There are so many things I could say. An apology. An explanation for my behavior. A promise that Will and Maren will never find out. So many good options. Yet, I go with the most reckless response.