Chapter Twenty-Three
Everett
When I see Mila walking toward me at the back of the pub late Friday night, I wonder if she’s a figment of my imagination. Like maybe I’ve been thinking about her so hard that I conjured her up.
But she keeps coming toward me with a huge smile on her face, as if she’s over the moon to see me. And while I’m glad to see her too, something feels off.
When she gets closer, I know what it is. She’s drunk.
“Everett!” She waves both hands high over her head. “You’re here!”
“I’m here.”
“Me too, and I just did a shot of Fireball.” She laughs and gestures toward the bar.
“Um, you did two shots of Fireball,” says Yasmine, who’s standing behind her. “And I’d just like to say that I voted against both of them.” She shoots an evil stare at Ripley, who’s also with them.
He holds up his hands. “In my defense, I didn’t realize someone had been plying her with wine all night next door.” He cants his head toward Yasmine with an accusatory glare.
Yasmine makes eye contact with me, mimes a steering motion and shakes her head. The message is clear.
I glance at Mila’s lopsided smile, doing my best to keep my eyes off her bare midriff in that flirty top she’s wearing. “How are you getting home?”
“That’s a good question,” she says, poking my chest. “But I’m not ready to go. Let’s have another drink.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Did you drive here?”
She thinks for a moment. “Yes. In my mother’s car.”
“I’ll take you home.”
“To your place?” She seems excited about that, but it’s easy enough to ignore temptation and be responsible when she’s clearly inebriated.
“No, yours. But I’ll drive.”
“Oh.” Her face falls and then lifts again. “Your truck? I’ve never done it in a truck before.”
Sweet Jesus, how much alcohol has she had tonight? I inhale and exhale, gathering strength. “No, in your mom’s car. Are you ready to go?”
“Yes.” An emphatic nod. “But I think we’ll have a lot more space to maneuver in your truck.”
Praying for strength, I ask her to give me a minute, gently tucking her into the chair I just vacated. I hustle over to the throwing lane, where Hunter and I are mid-game. Ben is home with Vivian tonight. “Hey, listen,” I tell Hunter. “I gotta take Mila home. Maybe someone can throw for me.”
He cocks a brow. “I thought there was nothing going on.”
“There isn’t. She just drank too much, and I want to make sure she gets home safely.”
“Um, you sure about that?” The next thing I know, Mila has wrapped her arms around me from behind, pressing her cheek against my shoulder blade.
“You’re so big,” she gushes. “And you’ve got so many nice, hard muscles. But you’re cuddly, too. Like a big snuggle bear.”
Hunter nearly chokes on his beer.
“I’ll throw for you,” Ripley says, his expression concerned. “You get her home safely.”
“Thanks.” I detach Mila’s hands, which are locked around my waist, and turn around. “Let’s go.”
“Okay.” She gazes up at me with bleary, adoring eyes.
“Bye, Snuggle Bear,” Hunter calls.
Ignoring him, I take Mila by the shoulders and aim her toward the exit.
“I’ll walk out with you,” Yasmine says. “I told my bartender I’d only be gone for a few minutes.” The three of us start walking toward the front of the pub.
“Wait!” Mila stops moving so suddenly that I bump into the back of her and have to catch her before she falls forward. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
“It’s over there,” Yasmine says, pointing just beyond the bar. “Do you want me to go with you?”
“No.” Mila gives her a smile and pats my chest. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go ’way.”
I watch her walk unsteadily to the bathroom, glad when she makes it without tripping. “How much did she drink?”
Yasmine looks guilty. “I’m not entirely sure.
I probably refilled her wine glass one too many times.
But it was just so good to see her, and we were talking and reminiscing nonstop.
I was about to call her an Uber when she suddenly decided she wanted to come over here and find you.
” She frowns in the direction of the bar.
“Then Ripley offered her shots. It took her from tipsy to tanked real fast.”
Mila returns a couple minutes later, and we make our way out of the pub. On the sidewalk, Yasmine opens her arms, and Mila flings herself into them. “Thank you for the wine, and for being so wonderful. I’m sorry I wasn’t better at keeping in touch.”
“That’s okay, honey.” Yasmine rubs her back. “We found each other again, right? And this time, we’ll do better. Get some sleep, okay?”
“Okay.” They let go of each other, and Yasmine gives me a smile. “Thanks, Everett. Good night.”
“Night, Yasmine.”
“She’s so pretty,” Mila murmurs dreamily, watching her friend slip inside the wine bar. “I remember in high school how I was so jealous of her curves. I had no boobs.” She laughs, looking down at her chest. “Not that I have much going on there now. My butt is better.”
Actually, her tits are great—on the smaller side, the perfect size to fit the palm of my hand. Or get my mouth on. And as far as that apple-cheeked ass, I want to sink my teeth into it.
But I will be good tonight.
I will be good tonight.
I will be good tonight.
“Where are you parked?” I ask.
“The public lot.” She giggles. “Not in your spot this time.”
We start down the block with her clinging to my arm like a koala to a tree branch. Along the way, she takes deep breaths and tilts her head back to look at the sky. “Stars tonight,” she says. “They look like confetti. Like they’re falling on me.”
I chuckle. “Make a wish.”
“Good idea.” She closes her eyes, and immediately her sneaker snags the edge of an uneven sidewalk square.
I catch her before she goes down. “Keep your eyes open, okay?”
“But you have to close your eyes when you make a wish! And I really want this one to come true.”
I don’t ask.
A minute later, we reach the parking lot, and after some searching, she manages to lead me to her mom’s car.
I hold out my hand. “Can I have your keys?”
“Sure.” She hunts around in her purse for a minute, pulls them out, and lets them dangle from her fingers. “Found ’em.”
I reach for them, but she snatches her hand away. “Wait!”
“What?”
She grins up at me and hiccups. “Can I see your tractor, Farmer McKean?”
“My tractor?”
“Yes. I want you to”—hiccup—“plow my fields.”
I try not to laugh. “Can I just have the keys?”
“Are you saying you don’t want to plow me?” With a hand on each of my shoulders, she rises up on tiptoe and brings her lips close to mine. Temptingly close. Agonizingly close. I can practically taste the Fireball on her tongue.
But she’s drunk, and I’m not that guy. “Not tonight.”
“Why not?” Hiccup. “We won’t even be breaking my rule because we’re not going to date. We’re just going to be bends with frenebits.” Frowning, she tries again. “Friends with benefits. It’s where you can have sex with a friend, but it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just for fun, like you said.”
I manage to grab the keys out of her hand. “Friend, there will be no benefits while you’re in this condition.”
“But it will be good for me. Healing doesn’t”—hiccup—“happen in isolation, Everett.”
“Come on, Freckles,” I say gruffly. “I’m taking you home.” Taking her by the arm, I march her around to the passenger side while she resists like an obstinate toddler. After helping her in, I get behind the wheel. “Put your seat belt on, please.”
She buckles herself in without saying anything and stares straight ahead, hands in her lap.
“Mila. Don’t be mad.”
She only hiccups in reply.
At her house, I ask where she wants the car.
“Driveway is good. But how’re you gonna get back to town?” Her words are slurred.
“I’ll walk.”
She hangs her head. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine. It’s not far.” And I’m going to need the air to cool off anyway.
“Okay. Thanks for the ride.” She exits the car abruptly, heading straight for the house. The front door is unlocked, and I watch her go inside. It doesn’t occur to me until the door is already closed behind her that I still have her keys.
I send her a quick text.
Everett: Hey. I forgot to give you your keys back. Should I leave them in the car? Or in the mailbox?
I wait a few minutes, but she doesn’t reply.
Everett: If I don’t hear from you tonight, I’ll just drop them off to you early tomorrow.
Another five minutes. No response.
She probably already crashed. I get out of the car, lock the doors, and stick the keys in my pocket. I’ll bring them over to her in the morning, see how she’s feeling.
It’ll give me an excuse to see her again.
That night, I struggle to fall asleep. I lie there in bed, hands behind my head, staring into the darkness but seeing Mila’s flirty smile. Her ass in those jeans. The bare skin below her blouse. I want to kiss her there. I want to kiss her everywhere.
Groaning, I slide my hand beneath the covers and fist my cock.
My conscience knows I did the right thing turning her down, but right now my body has the floor.
I imagine her above me in the dark, her mouth on mine, the taste of whiskey on her lips.
I can practically feel that long red hair trailing my chest as she shimmies her way down my legs.
At the first stroke of her tongue across my crown, I suck in my breath.
Her playful laugh floats up at me as she wraps her hands around my shaft and licks me like vanilla ice cream off her spoon.
Sucks me like caramel sauce off her finger.
Takes me to the back of her throat.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. She grips me tightly, working her hands up and down my length, the tension in my body climbing, the muscles in my legs going tight.
With my eyes closed, I see her lips moving up and down my cock.
I hear the soft, surprised little sounds she emits as I jerk my hips off the bed, fucking her hot, lush mouth.
I feel the unbelievable heat and friction and suction driving me higher, harder, closer to the edge.
My stomach muscles clench. Time stops. Hovers. Teases.
Two seconds later, I erupt with a long, drawn-out groan, lost in my fantasy’s grand finale, during which Mila not only lets me come in her mouth but swallows every drop and licks her lips afterward.
Breathing hard, I fall back against my pillow. The release felt good, but it hasn’t solved my problem. I don’t want her any less.
After cleaning myself up, I climb back into bed and wonder which version of her I’ll get tomorrow.
The one who wants me to respect her boundaries?
Or the one who wants me to plow her fields?