Chapter 28
twenty-eight
. . .
SUMMER
After leaving Rory’s, we walk to The Fat Pelican where Winnie heads straight for the bar and orders tequila shots.
“I was going to get this round,” Darcy pouts.
Winnie wraps her arm around Darcy’s shoulders. “Don’t worry. There will be more.”
And there are more.
At least two. Then a beer is pushed into my hand by Cora and we hit the dance floor.
I’m not normally a big drinker, but I use the buzzy, tingly feeling to let the tension-filled moments of the day melt away.
The awkward conversation with Rory about sex in the doctor’s office earlier.
Rory’s arm wrapped possessively around me on the beach. And how much I liked it.
Oh, and that kiss he planted on me before we left the house? Running on a loop in my brain since it happened.
I try to shake it off, close my eyes, and focus on the beat of the music. The thumping bass trying to drown out everything else. But no matter how hard I try, the feel of Rory’s lips on mine keeps sneaking back into my thoughts.
It wasn’t the kiss itself. Okay, maybe it was.
I recall the way his lips had been tender, yet firm, like he wanted to make sure I remembered it. The way I’d been desperate to lean into it for just a second longer. And how obnoxiously handsome he’d looked doing it. That stupid, smirky, too-perfect grin he wore afterward only made it worse.
I need to focus on that.
Rory’s too good looking. Too patient. Too understanding.
I’ve married a walking green flag of a man. A charming, irresistible nightmare if there ever was one.
And I’m undeniably attracted to him.
The thought has me going stiff in the middle of the crowded dance floor.
“You okay?” Darcy yells over the music, a worried look on her face. “Are you going to be sick?”
I furiously shake my head, as I force those unwanted thoughts to the back of my brain and start dancing again.
Around midnight, Winnie corrals us to Sully’s for a late-night slice of pizza, then into the car service that she coordinated to pick us up, also known as her brother, Eli, in an SUV.
“Did you ladies have fun?” Eli asks.
“It was a blast.” Winnie giggles from the front seat.
I know I’m drunk because I offer up the information about Eli and the rest of the guys seeing me in my underwear last week.
Eli tries to comfort me. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
“No, that is. I would have died!” Darcy shrieks.
As we make the rounds to drop everyone off, the SUV is a cacophony of women singing offkey and talking loudly over each other, but Eli drives us with the patience of a kindergarten teacher.
“Summer, this is you,” Winnie says, hopping out to let me get by her. I half expect to see my van, but when I look up, it’s Rory’s beach house.
Somewhere between that last tequila shot and devouring a slice of pepperoni and mushroom pizza the size of my head, I’d almost been able to forget the man I’m coming home to.
Winnie wraps me in her arms, laughing when we both tip sideways, nearly falling.
“This was the best night.” And I mean it. I haven’t had fun dancing and hanging out with friends in the longest time. Scarlett travels the world for work so girls’ nights are not a common occurrence.
“I had so much fun with you. We have to do it again soon.” She squeezes me one more time before setting me on course to walk up the path to the front door.
After two attempts, I open the front door, then wave to Eli, Winnie, and Cora who have been patiently waiting at the curb.
Once inside, I catch my breath against the door. Then, with one hand against the wall, I reach down to unhook the ankle strap of my sandal. But in my condition, this really isn’t a standing-up kind of task. I sway a bit as I hop from one foot to the other, but eventually give up. I’m so tired, I’ll probably just sleep in them.
Sleep. That sounds nice.
I need to lie down, but the bedroom is so far away. And then there’s the fact that Rory is in there and the whole reason I consumed so many drinks tonight was so I could forget that I’m attracted to him. Clearly, it backfired because now all I can think about is how his naked torso must look with the soft sheets gathered around his narrow waist. The same way he looks every night when I stare longingly at him. He’s probably got one muscular arm stretched overhead with those full, commanding lips of his barely parted while he breathes peacefully.
Yeah, I can’t go in there now. In my condition, the pillow wall won’t keep anyone safe tonight.
I push off the door, and stumble forward. The couch has got to be here somewhere.
It’s late, and I know Rory has an early morning workout, so I’m trying my best to be quiet, stealthily creeping through the dark living room, but I misjudge the space and bang my knee into the side table by the couch.
“Fuck a duck!” I exclaim, biting my lip to help divert attention away from the excruciating pain in my knee. I can’t imagine how much it might hurt if I didn’t have a fifth of tequila coursing through my veins. “That’s definitely going to leave a mark,” I mutter.
“Summer?” a deep, yet groggy voice murmurs.
The voice is so close and unexpected that I jump, but the fact I’m already hopping on one heeled-sandal foot has me thrown off balance. I pitch forward and land with a thud on the carpeted living room floor.
At this point, it would be less painful if I just crawled on the floor.
A light clicks on and my eyes adjust to find Rory scrambling to hover above me. He’s shirtless, of course. My eyes devour his broad, curved shoulders, then travel downwards to the hard planes of muscle that make up his chest and torso. Don’t get me started on his brilliant blue eyes and the soft, sleepy smile he’s giving me.
“Are you okay?” he asks, throwing my arms around his neck so he can lift me off the floor.
I mumble something half coherent, my brain too busy processing the feel of his skin against mine.
He drops onto the couch with me in his arms.
Thank god. I finally found the couch. And Rory. It’s a win-win for all the pain my body has experienced in the last two minutes.
I should release him but I don’t want to. He’s sleep warm and oh so cozy. It’s taking all my will power not to nuzzle into his neck.
“Wait. Why were you on the couch?” I ask, trying to collect my thoughts. “I thought you’d be in bed asleep.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Why?”
He glances away, but I can just make out the slightest flush of his cheeks in the dim lighting. His eyes find mine again.
“Because you weren’t here. My brain can’t relax until I know you’re home.”
I have zero control of the giddy smile that creeps across my face. His announcement shouldn’t make my pulse pound. It should set off alarm bells, but if there are any, I’m too tipsy to notice.
I giggle, which is a sign I’m drunk because giggling isn’t something I make a habit of doing. Laughing dryly. Cackling, and scowly stares, yes. Giggling like a school girl? Not my thing.
His hands grip my waist and my entire body starts to tingle.
Cue more giggling.
“Did you have a fun night?” he asks, fixing me with his magnetic gaze while his large hands brush my wild hair away from my face.
“Yes. Until I slammed my knee into the table.”
His hand grazes over my injured knee, his thumb circling the bruise forming there.
“Is your wrist okay? From falling?” He checks it out next, but there’s no pain anywhere. I feel great. There must be narcotics in his smile.
“Yeah, I’m good.”
After his inspection of my wrist, he shifts me off him and onto the couch. I pout at the loss of contact, but he’s too busy examining my puffy knee to notice.
“Just a sec.”
He leaves me there for a minute, but comes back with one of his ice packs wrapped in a towel. Lowering down in front of me again, he wraps my knee up with the ice pack before his hands lower to my feet where he starts to take off my strappy sandals.
“You know, Wildflower, if you wanted me on my knees, you could’ve just asked.” He winks, and my belly swoops.
I want to maul this man.
That’s the tequila talking, I’m sure.
Or my brain recalling how hot it had been when he’d been so possessive over me at the bonfire earlier. I’d never felt that kind of protection before. I liked it. A lot.
Or it could also be the fact that I think I’m starting to develop the tiniest of crushes on my husband.
Husband, husband, husband.
My brain chants it over and over until all meaning of the word is lost.
But that doesn’t work. None of this works if there are feelings involved.
“You want to get ready for bed?” he asks.
I remind myself what we’re doing here.
It’s temporary.
Convenient.
Not romantic.
All those reminders, but my silly, alcohol-soaked brain doesn’t care.
You need to care, or this is going to hurt a lot more than a bruised knee.