Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
DARCY
T he first few moments you realize you’re awake can often be filled with a sort of glum “damn, I’m awake” disorientation. But that’s not true of the mornings after you drank way too fucking much. No. Instead, those first few moments are like you died and woke up in a hell of your own making.
My stomach retches as I belch fire. Whiskey-flavored fire. Which is enough to make me want to puke on its own. Couple it with the fact that I don’t feel in control of my own body, and I’m ready to start praying to gods I don’t believe in to end it all.
A familiar scent wafts, hitting my senses and causing a whole different wave of panic. This smells like Ridge. Am I dreaming? I definitely feel awake, even if I can’t open my eyes just yet.
I pull the blanket up farther, covering the bottom half of my face. This blanket… feels… like it’s not mine. Oh, no. Okay, think. What happened last night? Lyric left… I know I said I was staying. A flash of Tyler at the bar hits me. Tyler showed up. We were talking and he got me another drink and then… son of a bitch. That bastard overserved me. Oh my god, I’m not at his place, am I?
Slowly, I reach out and pat the bed next to me to see if there’s another person. But there’s no one. A sigh of maximum relief escapes me. At least I didn’t do that dumb shit.
There’s movement in the distance, someone shuffling around. Which is terrifying because I don’t think I made it home. This definitely doesn’t feel like my blanket.
It’s not a matter of being unable to open my eyes now. It’s more like I’m very, very scared to know just what the hell happened.
I turn to face the edge of the bed and slowly open a single eyelid. A glass of water fills the frame. Next to it is a bottle of headache medicine and my glasses. Feeling beneath the covers, it seems the glasses and my shoes are the only things removed. Another good sign that I didn’t do that other stupid thing, like hook up with a rando.
The rich smell of coffee brewing hits me, and despite the hangover, it actually smells delicious. I turn to take in my surroundings and panic.
This… is Ridge’s room. I’ve only seen it twice, but it’s enough to know for sure that’s exactly where I am. I pat my pockets, retrieving my phone for clues. Damn. It’s dead.
What did you do, Darcy??
I sit up and swing my legs very slowly over the side of the bed. The dizziness is still brutal. I stand, stumbling for a moment to my left before steadying myself. Jesus, this sucks.
There are times in life when you drink way too fucking much and swear on everything that you will never ever drink again. You swear you’ll always be designated driver because the juice is absolutely not worth the fucking squeeze. I myself have made this promise four times. It would appear four is also the number of times I’ve broken that fucking promise. But I really, really mean it this time. With my whole chest.
With much effort, I open his door without a sound and tiptoe down the hallway with my head hung quite low. I can hear him in the kitchen, but he seems to be trying to avoid making noise too.
Rounding the corner, I’m met with the image of Ridge with his back to me. And he’s shirtless. God, this is just not what I need right now. My eyes trace the curves and edges of his back muscles and the way his tattoo artist gave him a tattoo that flows with his natural shape. It’s a storm on the ocean, with bolts of lightning and waves crashing. There’s a tiny boat in the center of it all. I can’t explain it, but somehow that tells me more about him than I might’ve gotten from a conversation.
“Well, good morning, honey,” he says, turning to face me.
His use of that particular pet name somehow feels so natural from his mouth. He makes it work in a way I didn’t think anyone could. And the fact that he used it on me … well, I’m a smitten kitten all over again.
“I, um…” I clear my throat and try again. “I don’t have all the facts, but I’m a hundred percent sure I need to apologize.”
“You don’t need to apologize for anything,” he says, walking toward me.
He hands me a cup of coffee and says, “I know it’s not cold, but somehow I don’t think you’ll mind right now.”
And I don’t. I wrap my hands around the mug, warming them against it. It feels good. Soothing. I take the first delicious sip, the heat hitting the back of my throat in the most comforting way.
“Thank you.” My lips curl into a smile, and a wave of affection pours over me. Which is definitely not good. “How did I get here?”
“You don’t remember anything, do you?”
“I remember drinking a couple of rounds with Lyric. She hit it off with this guy there and hinted about wanting to leave. I told her I wanted to have one more and she should go with the guy. I told her I’d be fine.” I pause to take another sip of my coffee. “Can I sit?”
“Of course,” he says, moving so I can make it to the stool he’s blocking.
I lift myself up onto the chair, wincing as I go. While my body feels like gelatin, my joints feel stiff as fuck.
“No sooner than she left, Tyler, the ex-boyfriend I mentioned, showed up. I swear it was like he was hunting for me. Like he knew I would be there.”
Ridge’s jaw tightens ever so slightly, like maybe he’s wondering if Tyler is stalking me. I’ll be honest—I had the same thought.
“Anyway, the next thing I know, he’s buying me a round. And then another. And another. The bastard overserved me. Probably on purpose.”
The tightness in his jaw is joined by his fingers curling into tight fists at his sides.
“I’m sorry to have dragged you into this,” I say. “I don’t know how that happened.”
“You texted me,” he says. “Just the word ‘help,’ and I asked for the address. You were close by, thankfully. The guy you were talking to—I guess, Tyler—tried saying he would take you home, but I didn’t like it. I didn’t like the look of him or how wasted he let you get, so I got you out of there. But you passed out as soon as I got you into my truck, and I didn’t know your address. So I brought you here.”
I’m stunned silent for a moment as he shares the events from his perspective. I don’t remember sending that text. Maybe some part of me knew the bar was close to his house. Or maybe it’s because when I examine the people in my life, I come up short on protective savior types. Ridge is a father, and they’re pretty much hardwired for that. The good ones, anyway. Maybe my choice makes more sense than I initially thought.
“Thank you.” It’s all I can manage to say. I truly mean it, and I try to convey that in the way I hold his gaze, silently praising him.
“I would do it a thousand times if it meant I knew you were safe,” he says.
My eyes widen a little as his statement. It throws me completely off guard. That was… intense. Right?
Ridge clears his throat, scratching the back of his neck. “I mean, you know, because you’re so good with Lou.”
Right. Lou. It’s nothing, Darcy. Don’t get your panties in a wet twist. It’s about his daughter and nothing else. Think about it. He’s a good-looking, successful, single dad. He’s nice and responsible and has his shit together. For fuck’s sake, he’s a decade older than me. He’s not interested in some college girl who gets sloppy drunk and texts her boss to help her out of a bad situation. That’s a whole lot of drama, and something tells me Ridge is not about the drama.
“Of course,” I say, nodding chaotically. My center of gravity is still out of whack. I feel like a bobble head doll stuck to the dash of someone rolling over one pothole after another.
“Anyway, I should get out of your hair. I wouldn’t want to ruin any more of your coveted kid-free weekend.”
“You didn’t ruin anything,” he says. “And Darcy, I want you to look at me when I say this.”
I’d turned away, ready to retrieve my shoes and glasses from his bedroom. But I stop in my tracks when he says that, and turn back toward him.
His eyes are intense and fixed on me. Their darkness is so commanding.
“If you are ever, and I do mean ever, in trouble—if you ever need me like that again—do not hesitate to call me or text me or drive here. I’ll be there for you,” he says.
My heart constricts. Why, oh why is he saying all of these wonderful things to me? I can’t take it.
“I will.” I choke down the lump in my throat.
He nods and offers to drive me home, but I decline, insisting he’s already done enough. So then he offers to call me an Uber while I get my shoes. I accept since my phone is dead, but he refuses to let me pay him back for it, too, even though I insist like three times. It’s a real resistance-is-futile situation.
I collect my shoes and put on my glasses, then take some of the medicine he left for me and stop into the bathroom to relieve my bladder. Shock registers on my face when I get a look at myself in the mirror. There’s smeared mascara under my eyes, and my hair is frizzed up. I smooth it down as best as I can and use the hair tie around my wrist to pull it into a messy knot. I’ll deal with it when I get home.
This is not a glorious moment for me. I would just like to put that on record. In fact, this is my hell. If hell is a making of your own worst fears and each person’s hell is totally different based upon their own psyches, then mine is most definitely feeling like a fool in front of Ridge Jessup. Yes, specifically and only Ridge Jessup.
I make my way back to the living room, where Ridge is waiting by the door.
“Your ride will be here any minute,” he says. “I put some coffee into a travel mug for you.”
“Ah, you take such good care of me.” I giggle pathetically. “I’m so spoiled.”
“As you should be,” he says as I come to stand by him. His eyes skirt away from meeting mine, like he’s just as surprised that he said that as I am.
“So I’ll see you Monday,” he says, opening the door.
I nod, and to avoid any more blunders, I settle on not saying anything else. I give him a wave, clutching the travel mug to my chest and making a mental note to wash it and return it when I come back.
And like, thank fuck I’m coming back, right? Wow, I have such a nice boss.
A nice boss with a nice ass and a heart of gold. Fucking great.