Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 63579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
My vision swims.
I lose my breath again.
“I should, ah, go,” I say, pushing back and glancing at Luna. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You’re not driving,” Luna calls, unable to get to me as she’s currently serving a customer.
“I’ll call a cab!” I yell as I stumble my way toward the front door.
The moment my feet hit the pavement after much difficulty with the stairs, I’m forced to take hold of a lamp post because my head is quite literally swimming. The fresh air is doing nothing but making me feel worse. Reaching for my phone after digging around in my purse, I curl my fingers around it and pull it out, staring hazily at the screen. I need to call a cab, because I need to go to bed.
Like, yesterday.
“I’ll take you.”
The low rumbling voice has me turning suddenly, losing my footing yet again. For the second time tonight, Western catches me and stops me tumbling down onto my backside.
“Oh, no, it’s okay,” I say, waving a hand as I correct myself.
“I’ll take you.”
Right.
Western doesn’t argue.
“I’m not certain I can stay on your bike,” I say, giving him a concerned expression.
“Got my truck.”
Right.
His truck.
Of course he has a truck.
Why wouldn’t he?
Too tired and intoxicated to argue, I nod and follow him as he walks to his truck which is parked just down from the club. It’s big, black, and, oh, it suits him. I thought he looked good on a motorcycle, but I would bet he looks just as good in this truck. Opening the door for me, I hastily climb in, trying very hard not to show just how difficult that is. When my bottom is planted firmly on the seat, Western leans in and takes the seatbelt, pulling it over my lap and clicking it into place.
I hold my breath as I watch his face move past mine, and the scent of him fills my nostrils. My god, I want to know what he tastes like, what it would feel like to touch him, to have his body on mine, to run my fingers over his skin.
What ... the fuck?
Shaking my head as he closes the door, I try to get my mind back into a semi-sober state where I’m not fantasizing about a man I barely know.
Western climbs into the truck, turning it on.
It roars to life with a sexy rumble that only makes my fantasies skyrocket out of control.
“Should you be driving?”
That is hardly what I’m really concerned about, but it comes out anyway.
No filter and all that.
“Drive all the time,” he murmurs, pulling out onto the road.
“Yes, I know, but you have been drinking.”
He doesn’t answer.
“What if the cops pull you over?”
Still no answer.
Obviously, it is of no concern to him.
“Your wife seems lovely.”
My voice holds a sarcastic tone, and my eyes widen the moment the words leave my lips.
I really need to shut my mouth.
Western still doesn’t say anything, and I want to shrink into the chair.
This is going well.
So, so well.
FUMBLING WITH MY KEYS, I attempt to open the front door but fail, multiple times. I can still hear the rumbling sound of the truck idling on the street because Western won’t drive away until I get inside. His words, not mine. Well, his words were, “Go inside, I’ll wait.” Which I took to mean he is going to make sure I’m in my house alive before going home, but at this rate, I’m not getting in anytime soon.
When my keys drop to the ground, I mutter a curse and lean down to fetch them. Being as drunk as I am, I lean a little too harshly forward and slam my head against the door. Toppling backward with a cry, I fall to my bottom, and shame immediately creeps into my now spinning brain. He would have just witnessed that entire scene and my word, it would have been hilarious to watch.
Closing my eyes, I refuse to open them, even when I hear the truck stop, the door slam, and Western’s large, booted feet stomping up to me. Leaning down, and I know this because I get a whiff of his incredible scent, he scoops the keys up, and I hear him unlock the front door. I don’t move, I just sit on the ground, my head now pounding, and keep my eyes closed. I’m not even certain at this point if I can actually stand. The way my head is spinning is beginning to head toward the vomiting direction.
“I don’t think I can stand,” I say, eyes still closed, head leaning forward as I fight the constant waves of dizziness.
Without a word, as per usual, Western scoops down and just lifts me into his arms. He does this as if I weigh nothing, and I know for a fact that isn’t true. Eyes springing open, I stare at his face in shock as he carries me through the front door and right into the living room. There, he deposits me onto the sofa. My head does a horrible spin the second I’m placed down, and I grip my stomach, terrified if I move even once more it’ll be the end for me.