Chapter 1 #2
“You’d skip out of last period nearly every day,” she said conversationally, no malice or judgment in her tone, a small smile tilting her lips. “I’d watch you get on your motorcycle and roar off down the street. A real lone wolf.”
Then Bonnie cupped her small hands and held them above her ears and let loose a high-pitched howl that had every head turning in our direction.
I fought a laugh as I looked down at the wood-grain surface. But I brought my attention back to her when she said quietly, “You didn’t know I existed. I was just a sophomore, and you were Mister Badass with your leather jacket.”
“Still have that leather jacket,” I said.
But she didn’t seem to notice. “And your attitude. And your harem.”
I frowned. “Okay, I don’t think it was a harem.” I heard Sasha make a choking sound to my left, but I ignored her.
“And you still don’t know I exist,” Bonnie said on a sigh. She placed her elbow on the bar and rested her chin in her hand. “We play softball against each other once a month.”
Now that I’d placed her, I knew she played third base for the teachers’ team, but I wasn’t about to correct her. One time, she’d tagged me out on the ass and then followed me into the dugout, apologizing profusely, her face so red, I thought she might pass out.
But other than rec league sports, our paths didn’t really cross—not in any meaningful way. She was right about that.
I didn’t remember her from high school. Mostly because I’d been too angry and stupid to notice anyone like her. And now, well, why would I?
Bonnie Clark was a bright, shiny do-gooder. I didn’t know what grade or subject she taught, but I was sure she excelled at it. She wanted to mold young minds and support future generations. I bet she came in early, stayed late, and bought classroom supplies with her own money.
In the Venn diagram of Kirby Falls, our circles didn’t touch.
She was in the same category as all off-limits women. She was married, and I didn’t fuck around with that.
I considered her for a long moment. “I know who you are. You’re one of the Clarks. You’re just not one of the farming ones.”
She shook her head in a way that said she was very disappointed in her student. “And you’re still a lone wolf.”
Bonnie cupped her hands above her ears again and made to howl, but I pressed my finger against her lips, fighting a smile.
God, she was hammered.
“Can you call someone to pick you up?” I asked. “Where’s your husband?” Then I winced, remembering what Kayla had said earlier.
Bonnie leaned away from my finger, gaze and voice going frosty. “I don’t have one of those anymore.”
I was not touching that with a fucking barge pole. “How about we call Will or your sister?”
“No, thank you,” she replied primly as her blinks grew slower. “I’m here to celebrate. I am officially divorced, and I’m going home with someone. And some sexy long-haired pirate bartender isn’t going to tell me what to do.”
I blinked. Sexy long-haired pirate bartender. What the hell?
Then Bonnie’s eyes closed and her head drooped fully into her hand. Her elbow slid along the smooth surface of the bar until she was slumped over, breathing deeply.
I shook my head. Passed-out Princess Barbie wasn’t going anywhere.
“Kayla,” I called, keeping my gaze on Bonnie to make sure she didn’t fall off her stool, “can you get a hold of someone to come get her?”
My bartender answered, cocktail shaker in hand, “I already tried calling Larry, but she’s out on a date.
Mac is not answering. I don’t have Will’s number.
And I’m not trying her parents. This will be embarrassing enough in the morning.
Sasha and I are closing tonight. You should just take her home. ”
I stared at her incredulously. “Me?”
Kayla strained the alcohol into a glass, added a curl of lemon peel, and then delivered it to the woman in front of her before coming to my side.
Speaking quietly, she informed me, “I heard she moved out of her grandparents’ house over at the farm.
So I don’t actually know where she’s staying.
Danny kicked her out when he said he wanted a divorce. ”
I blew out a breath. Jesus, what a fucking prince.
Kayla and I watched as Bonnie’s mouth dropped open, emitting a small snore.
I reached forward and shook her shoulder. “Hey, wake up.”
Kayla whacked me on the arm and walked off.
Bonnie mumbled and attempted to straighten herself.
“Where do you live?” I asked.
Her eyes drifted closed again. “I can’t tell you that,” she slurred. “Stranger danger.”
I placed my hands on my hips as frustration mounted. I just wanted this townie out of my bar.
Bonnie Clark was a fucking headache, right between the eyes.
I followed Kayla to the register, where she was ringing in an order for sriracha deviled eggs with candied bacon. “I’ll finish your shift. Just take her home.”
Her fingers moved across the touch screen deftly, but she didn’t look away. “No, I need the tips.”
“I’ll pay you.”
Kayla side-eyed me. “Just like a man. Trying to buy your way out of your problems.” I rolled my eyes. “Besides, you have like ten minutes before she pukes all over the bar. Just take her upstairs, Jack. This isn’t that hard.”
“I don’t even know her.”
“You know her enough.” Kayla’s gaze moved over my shoulder and narrowed in obvious anger. “Or you could let that guy take her home.”
Cursing, I spun around to find a very sloppy Bonnie giggling over some tech bro in head-to-toe Patagonia.
I approached with a scowl, but Romeo missed it completely.
“Hey, man. I want to buy the lady here a drink.”
Straightening to my full height, I crossed my arms over my chest. “Seriously, man? Consent. Go look it up.”
His bright white smile slowly slid into frowny confusion. “What?”
I indicated the woozy blond at his side. “She’s barely upright. Get the fuck out of here.”
Tech Bro opened his mouth to argue, but seemed to think better of it. He turned and went back to a table where four other similarly dressed tourists booed his apparent inability to close the deal with a semiconscious woman.
After some yapping from the guy I’d booted, his friends looked in my direction. And, apparently, they had enough sense to read the “fuck off” in my expression because a moment later, they got to their feet and left the bar.
If Bonnie minded that I’d scared off her one-night-stand potential, she didn’t show it. Instead, she had a hand pressed to the base of her throat as she frowned down at the bar top. “I don’t feel so great.”
Fuck, I needed to get her gone.
I clapped twice to get her attention. That felt like something a teacher would respond to. “Listen up, buttercup. Since you won’t tell me where you live, I’m taking you upstairs.”
She was still pale, but she visibly perked up. “Ohhh, what’s upstairs?”
“It’s where I live.”
“I can vouch for him,” Kayla said, suddenly materializing at my side.
Bonnie’s brows furrowed as she looked between the two of us. But then she released a long breath that I thought might knock her off her chair. “Okay, fine. But can I have the rest of that samosa?”
I rolled my eyes, but I went around the bar and gathered her sweater and purse. With her things and my bag of takeout in one hand, I led her back out into the lobby.
Despite stumbling twice, Bonnie refused to hold my arm as we walked slowly up to the second floor.
She insisted she was fine. I tried really hard not to notice how short her dress was, and only accomplished it when I remembered that idiot downstairs trying to buy her a drink when she was barely awake. Asshole.
She kicked off her flats as soon as she walked in the door. Then she did a nosy lap of the living room, picking up and looking at everything. Admittedly, there wasn’t much. I wasn’t exactly a knickknack sort of guy.
I watched as she examined my books on the end tables, a wooden coaster set, several small paintings on the wall, my reading glasses, and the framed image of me and my grandmother—the only photograph in the apartment.
My lips twitched as she folded and replaced the blanket I’d left on the back of the couch before turning to face me.
“Where’s your bathroom? I am about to be very sick.”
The beginnings of my smile died abruptly.
I sighed. “First door on the left.”
“Thank you.” Bonnie nodded, then promptly bolted down the hall.
I placed her things on my kitchen table.
The dinner I’d been looking forward to went directly into the refrigerator.
Next, I set about filling a glass of water and getting out the over-the-counter painkillers.
I made my way to the linen closet and grabbed a washcloth, wetting it in the kitchen sink.
Horrible sounds came from the bathroom, but we’d all been there a time or two.
I was a thirty-three-year-old man, and I hadn’t overindulged in quite a while, but I still remembered what it felt like to have your body reject all the alcohol you’d poured into it.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out why the Puking Princess had made some questionable choices tonight.
There was a small part of me—very small, mind you—that could understand the desire to drink away the day your divorce became final.
The toilet flushed, and I lingered in the hallway a moment longer.
I pushed the already cracked door open enough to see Bonnie sitting cross-legged on my bathroom rug, her head in her hands.
Her dress was short, but the skirt was full.
Thankfully, there was enough material fanned out to keep her covered.
A curtain of pale blond hair hid her face. She elicited a pitiful moan when I draped the cool cloth across the nape of her neck.
I sat down, facing her with my back to the cabinet below the sink. “Want some water?”
She actually growled, and I fought another smile. “Maybe in a few,” I amended.
“Go ahead and laugh,” she croaked, voice hoarse from the last five minutes of hurling. “I know you want to.”
“I don’t want to laugh,” I said, but I was smiling.