Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 122097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
My mama loved me for the studious, serious overachiever I was. She did. I know she did. But when I would let go, let my hair down and just flow, I saw the way she looked at me. Like this was the girl she knew I was.
I try to be that all the time, but I’m just not her.
Even on the Day I’m mostly pretending to be this girl. If Mama’s up in some spiritual realm looking down on me, then I want her to see me as the Lowyn she knew, and not still-single, too-picky Lowyn who will never fall in love again.
However… it is not like me to bring the one-night stand home.
Granted, this is the ten-year anniversary birthday of Mama being gone, so… perhaps I got a little overzealous?
I reach up and push some hair out of my eyes, gently rubbing the crusties so I can see better. I let out a long breath. Who was it? Who is in bed next to me?
Please, I silently beg. Please, if there is a God above, and if you care about me at all—please, please, please do not let the man in bed with me be Grimm.
Please.
This is a small town. In fact, the entire Trinity area is small-town 101. I grew up with everyone in my dating pool and there are only so many single men to go around, one of them being Jameson Grimm.
But I don’t get drunk in Disciple. No. No, no, no. That’s a big fat no. I go over to Bishop. Which is the unlikely choice given my nearby options include the small town of Revenant, but I’m not ready for that kind of letting loose.
So Bishop it is.
I get a room there at the Bishop Inn where my sister, Bryn, works as a chef, and then I walk into the center of town and get drunk at the Pineapple Pub. I drink, I dance, I might even karaoke. And then I take a man—most years, it’s a tourist—back to my room at the inn, have a lovely romp in the sack, then wake up and go home. Alone.
Grimm doesn’t care for Bishop. His first choice for a night out is typically Disciple, but he would go drinkin’ in Revenant long before he’d go to Bishop. So after giving myself this common-sense pep talk, I let out a breath of relief because I have a better than reasonable chance that the man in bed with me is not Grimm.
My once-a-year celebration is as safe as a plan as one can make when letting loose to drown sorrows that are not sorrows, but only because you refuse to give in to the idea that you are the kind of person who drowns her sorrows.
Or… has them.
In addition to being goal-oriented and fastidiously organized, I’m also perpetually optimistic. Bryn calls it my worst fault. Says I hide behind rose-colored glasses. Literally. She tells me this all the time. And my response, every time—and with a perpetually optimistic smile—is that I can live with it. Rose-colored glasses are right up my alley. Also literally. Because my go-to sunglasses are those round John Lennon ones, tinted rose.
It makes sense in the world of me.
However… it is curious that I didn’t stay in the room at the inn. Surely Bryn was babysitting me. That’s kind of her job. So… how did I get home?
Must’ve been the guy.
OK, Lowyn. It’s time to turn and see who he is. This is the Day After now and while you might be hungover, and Mama’s birthday is a holiday so you won’t be going into work, reality is something you face, not hide from.
I grab the covers and pull them up to my chest so I don’t flash him accidentally when I turn, but this is when I realize I’m not naked.
Hmm. In fact—I wiggle my toes—I’ve still got my boots on.
And my pants.
What the hell happened last night?
I mean, I didn’t even get laid?
I turn over and study the man in bed next to me.
He’s massive. Like broad massive. And fit. He, unlike me, is not fully dressed and I can see all the hills and valleys of his muscular back, shoulders and biceps. But he’s got his head tucked under the pillow so I can’t see his face.
One good thing—this is not Jameson Grimm. Grimm has dark hair and the hair peeking out from under the pillow is something between blond and brown.
Plus, this man has tattoos. Kind of a big one that covers the shoulder I can see. Something military, I think—an eagle, and one of those shield things they put on badges or patches. Inside the shield, in neat thin-line lettering, is the word ‘Silence.’
Weird.
But not important. I need to get this guy out of here. I can’t start my day with last night’s… whatever. He’s still got one arm around my waist, but it’s not tight. So I just slip it off me, sneak out of bed, and tiptoe out of the bedroom.