Chapter Two
Gabby
I wake up to the sun streaming through a window and searing into my eyes. I immediately close them tight. And as last night comes back to me in a technicolor movie-like reel, I groan. I might have been drunk last night, and I’m definitely hungover this morning, but I remember every detail.
I was mauled by Preston at my parents’ party, rushed from the house, and ended up at The Back Door where a nice bartender named Cal served me drinks, and then he showed up.
The man who brought me to his house because I refused to give him my parents’ address.
After consoling myself with the fact that at least I didn’t throw up in his car, I force my eyelids open and blink into the sun.
I take stock. The headache is to be expected. No nausea, thank God. And I’m still in my dress from last night while my shoes are on the floor by the bed. The hot bartender, Maddox, I remember, didn’t take advantage of me. He brought me home and took care of me, making him a decent guy.
There’s an old-fashioned shade on the window which hasn’t been rolled down, explaining my bright wakeup call. I look around and see bare walls with holes where picture hooks once were, faded rectangles where pictures once hung.
On the nightstand, I’m surprised to find a tall glass of water and two Ibuprofen.
I’m touched by the thoughtful gesture from a stranger whose hospitality I’m already taking advantage of, and very grateful.
I sit up, immediately swallowing the pills and downing the entire glass of water.
With a little luck, between this and some food, I’ll get rid of the pounding headache.
Once I have a clear head, I can figure out what to do next.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and look around, noticing my purse on the wooden dresser across from me.
My phone is inside it, and I’m not ready to see the dozens of messages my mother probably left.
Still, I’m not a procrastinator and decide it’s better to know what awaits me.
I retrieve my cell and turn it on, wincing at the text messages, missed calls, and voicemails.
A quick scroll through reveals my mother is furious that I embarrassed the family by leaving, my grandmother urges me to check in, and Preston informs me I’ve had my fun and it’s time to come home and face up to my responsibilities. Asshole.
I leave my phone on the dresser with my purse and walk into the hall, finding a bathroom across from the room where I slept. Once I’m inside and lock the door, I see he left me a toothbrush, toothpaste, and towels on the counter, along with what looks like one of his t-shirts.
I blow out a long breath, wondering how I got so lucky to find a good guy in my drunken state.
The bathroom is basic. The toilet is a standard, and the sink white porcelain with a small two-door wood vanity.
I turn on the shower water, adjust the temperature, undress and step under the warm spray.
There’s soap along with generic bottles of shampoo and conditioner, and I gratefully use them all.
A little while later, I step out of the bathroom feeling clean and refreshed and wearing a soft tee-shirt that falls to my knees, and yesterday’s underwear I turned inside out.
I stop in my room to take a hair tie out of my bag and pull my long hair into a messy bun on top of my head.
I glance in the mirror. My cheeks are pink from drinking and my eyes a little glassy, but without access to makeup, there isn’t much more I can do.
Last night, I made a fool of myself, and I have to face the bartender and see whether he’s as good-looking as I remember.
Or if I was viewing him through a drunken lens.
The house doesn’t appear to be big, and it’s definitely under renovation.
As I make my way to the kitchen, I notice the walls in the large family room have been primed but only one is painted, and there’s furniture, a mahogany-colored leather sofa and matching club chair and a large steamer-trunk as a cocktail table.
No knickknacks, nothing giving the place a homey feel.
I walk toward what I assume is the kitchen, glancing out the sliding glass doors as I pass.
The patio is also being worked on, the dirt outside having been dug up and most of the old bluestone removed except for a few square stones providing a walking path to the sandy area behind it.
I stop in the kitchen entry, taking in the obviously new, stainless-steel appliances, a swirled mix of gray, white, and black granite countertops, and a weathered wood tile on the floor in a steel gray. It’s masculine and very much like the man I remember meeting last night.
Speaking of my host, he stands in front of the sink, looking out a window.
With no shirt, a pair of black track pants ride low on his hips.
Defined muscles are visible in his upper back, tapering down to a lean waist. From behind, he’s an extremely hot man, and I swallow hard, and wrong, and begin to cough and choke on my own saliva.
He turns at the sound, his gaze landing on me.
I blink, and tears drip down my face as I struggle to catch my breath while taking in the hotness before me.
No drunken goggles for me. The man is the perfect male specimen, his dark hair tousled from sleep, his brown eyes warm, and his tanned body a picture of muscled goodness with a tattoo on one shoulder.
His eyes soften in concern. “You okay?”
I nod and swipe at the wetness on my cheeks. “Swallowed wrong.”
Once I stop coughing, his gaze drifts from my face, traveling down my body.
I might not have a ton of experience, but his eyes definitely heat, and I glance down to find my nipples poking through my thin cotton tee.
His T-shirt. Embarrassed, I fold my arms across my chest, and he immediately turns away.
He takes a few steps to the fridge, pulls out a carton, grabs a glass from a cabinet and pours orange juice into the cup. “Here.”
Grateful, I accept the drink and take a long sip, keeping my body angled away from him. I drink, waiting to be sure I won’t choke again before answering. “Thank you. And thanks for…bringing me back here, leaving me water and something for my head. Just…everything.”
“Wasn’t like you gave me a choice,” he says in a wry tone, and my cheeks heat with more embarrassment.
I hadn’t given him my parents’ address, but I can’t say I’m sorry. “Well, I appreciate it.”
He studies me intently, as if trying to figure me out. I’m aware of him now firmly keeping his eyes on my face, and I relax. If he finds me attractive, I definitely return the sentiment but I’d rather have more coverage while talking to him.
“Hungry?” he asks. “I have bagels.” He gestures to the counter where a bag of varied flavors sits. “Butter and cream cheese are in the fridge.”
I nod. “Thank you.”
I walk past him and set about choosing my bagel, a cinnamon raisin, and taking a tub of cream cheese from the refrigerator. “Want one?”
“I already ate.”
I shrug. Making myself at home isn’t easy, but I do my best, toasting and making my bagel, pouring a cup of coffee from the pot that he already made, and sitting down at the small kitchen table with him leaning against the counter, watching me the entire time.
He is respectful, keeping his gaze off my chest, but I notice him taking in my tanned legs, and I think I hear a hum of approval before he clears his throat and glances out the window.
“So your house is being renovated?” I ask as I take a bite of my bagel.
He cocks an eyebrow at my interest. “Yeah.”
“I like it here. It’s cozy. I mean, except for the lack of pictures and…feminine touches.” Yes, I’m hinting for an answer as to whether he has a girlfriend.
He frowns in confusion. “Why the hell would I have feminine touches?”
I shrug. “Your girlfriend likes the sparse décor?” Yes, I’m curious and digging for information. He might be a touch grumpy, but I can’t deny the hotness factor. Nobody in my world looks like him.
“I don’t have a girlfriend.”
I grin. “Interesting.” And good to know.
He exhales an exasperated breath and runs a hand through his sexy, somewhat long hair. “Look, can you just finish up so I can take you to the bar to get your car and you can go home?”
I’m obviously irritating him, but for some reason, I like getting under his skin. He might not want me here but from the way he looks at me, he’s not immune.
“I’m not going home. Not while my parents are giving the asshole access to the house and by default, to me.”
His sigh tells me he understands, but his next words are, “Well you can’t stay here,” he says gruffly.
I slowly put the bagel onto the plate, considering my options.
All the hotels, motels, and rentals will be booked for the summer.
My friends’ parents won’t take me in out of loyalty to my mother and father, who will never believe me if I tell them what Preston did.
People in our circle close ranks. I know I’ll find myself on the outside, with our friends helping my parents to push me to return home.
I truly have no other options, which means I’ll have to play on his sympathy and hope his kindness and hospitality continue.
Okay, kindness might be stretching how he’s treated me, but he brought me here, gave me a room, clean clothing and breakfast. He might be grumpy, but he hasn’t turned me away. Until now.
“Look, I realize we don’t know each other but you do have an extra room. The one I slept in last night.” I’ve never been so pushy, but I really need more time to figure out my life.
He shakes his head. “It’s about to become a study.”
“But for now, there’s still a bed.” I bat my eyelashes in a futile attempt to flirt, but I’ve never been any good at it.
He studies me, those chocolate brown eyes taking me in. He’s good at hiding his emotions. I’ll just have to be better at breaking through his walls.
* * *
Maddox