2. Amelia
Amelia
I feel awful. My head is pounding, my joints ache, and everything that can hurt does.
“Kill me now,” Cassie whines from the lounge next to me inside our cabana. “I never want to drink again.”
I don’t dare turn my head in her direction. “You’ll be fine,” I tell her.
“Why do you sound fine?” she asks.
“She’s a pro,” Lyra tells her. “Duh.”
“I’m not an alcoholic. Alcohol just doesn’t get to me the way it does you,” I reply, running my hand over my stomach and praying I don’t have to run to the bathroom.
Did I vomit? Once. Did they vomit? Too many times to count. We spent the rest of last night with Reed, Dustin, and Cliff. We had a great dinner, good conversation, and way too many drinks.
Did I beat Reed in our drinking challenge? I think so, but the night gets a little fuzzy toward the end.
“You’re genetically able to handle more booze,” Lyra explains.
“That’s not a thing.” I drop my hand to my side and regret coming to the pool.
It’s damn near a hundred degrees, and the sun is too strong for any normal human, let alone three hungover idiots like us.
“I think I’m going to faint,” Cassie says before moaning.
“Drink some ice water,” Lyra tells her.
“Ladies,” a man’s voice says from somewhere in front of us.
But again, I’m not opening my eyes to let in the blinding sunshine when my head’s already thumping to the beat of the poolside music.
“Cliffy,” Cassie says. “I don’t feel good.”
“You need to get out of the heat,” he tells her before something creaks, which I assume is her chair.
“Will you carry me?” she asks him. “Please?” Her voice is like fingernails on a chalkboard to me today. Normally, it doesn’t bother me, but today, everything is getting on my nerves.
“Come on, sunshine,” Cliff says, followed by a grunt. “I’ll take you inside and take care of you.”
I should protest, but Cassie’s her own woman, and he’s only doing what she asked.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Lyra tells them. That’s laughable. Lyra’s tame compared to Cassie, but somehow, she thinks she’s the wild one.
“You look way too good, Dustin. What’s your trick?” Lyra says.
“I have a secret potion,” he replies.
“I’m sure you do,” I mutter under my breath.
“Will you share with me?” she asks.
“You betcha, princess.”
“Later, Amelia,” Lyra says.
I sigh, happy to finally be alone.
Or at least, I think I am until the small sliver of sunshine that’s been scorching my legs disappears.
“How are you doing today, darlin’?” Reed’s rich voice skates over me, sending goose bumps across my flesh, even though the air feels like flames itself.
“Perfect,” I lie. “You?”
“Right as rain. Can I sit?”
He doesn’t wait for me to answer before he drops into the lounge chair at my side that Lyra vacated.
“How are you so chipper?”
“Hair of the dog.”
My stomach rolls at the thought. “Ugh,” I groan.
Reed chuckles. “You want a mimosa?”
“I’d better not,” I tell him, knowing nothing good can come from more alcohol.
“I bet if you had one, you’d feel like yourself again.”
I turn my head in the direction of his voice and crack open an eye behind my very dark sunglasses.
I don’t say anything at first. I just stare at his shirtless chest. It’s a work of art, but I never doubted that.
The dress shirt he wore last night hid the tattoo across his entire chest. “You look way too good for the amount you drank last night.”
“Not much to do in the middle of nowhere except drink. Nights are long and boring as fuck.”
“Do you guys sit around a campfire and pound back beers?” I tease.
“No, not really, but it’s not too far off.”
It’s not my place to judge his life or lack thereof. I could never live like that. I’d go mad from the lack of things to do, and drinking isn’t a hobby I wish to add to my repertoire.
A server walks by, and Reed is on his feet in an instant, chasing the woman down. Her bikini is skimpy, making mine look like I borrowed it from my grandmother’s closet.
“Two mimosas coming up,” he says as he plops back down next to me.
“You’re going to drink a mimosa? Won’t you lose your man card?”
“Are you going to turn me in to the testosterone police?”
“Maybe,” I mutter.
“Liar,” he says, calling me on my bullshit. He lifts his arm and runs his fingers through his hair. He’s missing his cowboy hat today, but he doesn’t need it because the man is handsome.
“Not hanging out with your buddies today?”
“They’re busy with your friends.”
“Stuck with the odd girl?”
“I’m not stuck with you.”
It’s not lost on me that he didn’t correct me about being odd. I’m pretty sure all three of us are odd to these guys. We come from very different worlds.
“I had a blast last night,” he adds. “Best time I’ve had in years. I’m right where I want to be.”
I stare at his profile, wondering what his angle is. “Look, Reed…”
“Yes, Amelia?” he says, turning his face toward me.
“You don’t need to babysit me. I do well by myself.”
“You do?”
“I’m an only child. I’m used to entertaining myself.”
“That’s sad. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?”
“Your being an only child.”
“I’m good with it.” For years, I wasn’t. I always wanted a little brother or sister, but it wasn’t in the cards for me. I learned to love the independence I had without someone tagging along all the time. Plus, I had enough cousins that I didn’t miss having a sibling.
“Shit,” he says, but it comes out more like sheet. “I can’t imagine being alone and not having my brothers and sisters.”
“Brothers and sisters?” I ask because both words he used were plural.
“Two brothers and three sisters.”
“Dear God. Your poor mother.”
“She would’ve had more, but my dad put his foot down.”
“Sounds more like he finally zipped up his pants,” I say, trying to be funny.
Reed’s face sours. “Gross, Amelia. That’s my parents you’re talking about.”
“Sorry,” I say, but I’m not. It was a good joke, even if it didn’t land with my audience.
“I’m fucking with you.” He laughs and reaches into his pocket as the server approaches with two mimosas on her tray.
I don’t offer to pay. I’m in this state because of him. I didn’t have any plans to get wasted last night, but a challenge is a challenge and one I couldn’t pass up.
“Thanks,” Reed says to the woman, giving her more than enough money to cover our drinks with a very large tip left for her.
“I’ll be back around to check on you,” she says to him and not to me. I may as well be invisible, but I get it. He’s dreamy in a Wild West kind of way.
Reed gives her a killer smile as he takes the drinks from her tray. “We’ll need another round in thirty.”
I open my mouth to protest, but I figure, when in Vegas. This vacation was supposed to be about letting loose, and there’s no better way to relax than to lie by the pool with a mimosa in my hand.
“Don’t slam it,” Reed says, holding out the champagne flute to me.
I take the drink, keeping my snarky comment to myself. The mix of ice-cold champagne and orange juice hits the spot in this unrelenting heat. I don’t know how anyone could put up with this weather every single day. I’d lose my mind.
“Have any hobbies?” Reed asks after he takes a sip that’s way too dainty for a guy his size.
“Hobbies?” I gawk at him, still trying to find out his angle. I don’t think any guy has ever asked me about my hobbies, not even after we’d dated for months.
“Yeah, you know. Things you like to do.”
“Well, um…” I stammer.
“I’ll go first. I like to read and whittle.”
“Whittle?” I chuckle at the absurdity. “People really do that?”
“Lots of wood and even more time.”
“Sounds like it. What do you read?”
I picture him out on the range with a knife, whittling a masterpiece by campfire.
“Thrillers and fantasy,” he says without missing a beat.
I sit up a little more, tucking my legs underneath me. If I could curl into the fetal position for the rest of the day, I’d be a happy girl, but Reed has other plans. “Favorite book?”
He rubs his neck as he thinks. It’s refreshing for him not to answer immediately. “If I had to choose one book to read over and over again for the rest of my life, it would be…” He pauses and grunts. “That’s so damn hard.”
“We all have one.”
“What’s yours?” he asks.
“Charlotte’s Web.”
Reed swings his legs over the side of the lounge chair and sits up, facing me. “The kids’ book?”
“It’s a classic,” I tell him, lifting my chin. “You can’t name a single thing that’s bad about that book.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t great, but I wouldn’t pick it as my favorite.”
“No, but you didn’t answer,” I remind him.
“Anything Sherlock Holmes.”
My eyebrows rise. “Really?” That’s not the answer I’d been expecting. The book is too much of a classic for a big, beefy cowboy like him.
“Yeah. It’s a great one. You can’t say anything bad about Sherlock.”
“No. I don’t think I can. A whittling reader,” I say. “Impressive.”
“But I’ve really gotten into audio lately. I can ride and listen. I don’t always have the time to have a book in my hand, but it’s a great way to keep my mind busy while I work. What do you do besides read?”
“I never said I read,” I reply.
“You didn’t need to tell me. No one’s going to say Charlotte’s Web unless they love reading. That book is a heartbreaker, so I’m guessing you read sappy romance that makes your eyes water.”
“Close,” I tell him. “I read romantasy.”
He tilts his head, his thick eyebrows drawing together. “Romantawhat?”
“Romantic Fantasy books. I can’t do strict romance books.” I don’t explain why. My mother’s ruined the genre for me, which is fine because romantasy stole my heart years ago, and I never turned back or peeked at her books or those of her friends.
“What else do you like to do?”
I decide to give him something since I’m happy he didn’t press on my reading choice. “I finger knit.”
“Finger what?”
I chuckle again. “I knit.”
“You said finger knit.”
“I use my fingers instead of needles. I make big, chunky blankets.”
“Cool,” he says, but I know he’s clueless on the topic. “We’re quite a pair. A whittler and a knitter.”
“We’re basically eighty,” I mumble.
“We rock for some old folks, and we look pretty damn good too.”
“You work out?” I blurt out, unable to stop myself from knowing more about him.
“No. I work on the ranch every day. That’s all I need.”
“Clearly,” I say because the man is covered in muscles, without an inch of body fat.
“Do you work out?” he shoots back.
“No.”
“Damn, girl. That’s all natural?”
I peer down at my body, noticing my softness everywhere he’s hard. “Courtesy of the finest pizza in the world.”
Reed’s gaze slowly travels down my body, and I suddenly feel completely bare. “Darlin’, you’re smoking hot. Pizza does a body good.”
I’ve never been self-conscious about my size or shape.
Am I thin? No, but I’m not overweight either.
Well, my doctor likes to say I’m on the upper end of normal body weight, but he can kick a mound of fire ants.
I like to eat, and I’m practically allergic to the gym.
I refuse to starve myself and sweat to death so I can lose a few pounds of body fat.
I’m soft where I’m supposed to be, and I love every single curve of my figure.
“Thanks, Reed.”
“No, I’m serious,” he says.
My response must not have sounded sincere, even though it was. “And now, I work in a bakery.”
“Even better. You probably go home smelling like sugar.”
“Pretty much.”
Reed licks his lips, and my gaze snags on the movement. “I like that.”
“Most people do,” I tell him, still staring at his mouth.
“I like your job more than mine. I go home smelling like cow shit and sweat.”
My nose wrinkles. “Gross.”
“Yep,” he snaps, kicking back in his chair again. “Worse things than sugar, sugar.”
“Sugar?”
“I like it better than darlin’.”
“Why not cupcake?” I ask, my body hotter than it was before, and it’s all because of the way Reed looks at me, like he’s ready to eat me up.
“Too long and not as sweet.”
“I’m not sweet, cowboy.”
“You are, baby. You are.”
“Pick one and stick to it,” I tell him, feeling saucy. “Darlin’, sweetheart, sugar, or cupcake. You only get one.”
“Bossy little thing,” he says, shaking his head. “Sugar, it is.”
A little part of me is sad. I liked darlin’. It’s not something I hear every day in Chicago. Sugar…I hear all the time, especially at the bakery.
“Drink up, sugar. Then we nap. We have a long night ahead of us.”
“We do? I don’t remember making plans for tonight.”
“Oh, you did.” He gives me a cocky smirk. “Right before you nearly crawled out of the bar to your room.”
“I did not. I walked.”
“If that’s what you want to call it,” he teases. “Those legs were shaking and not in a good way.”
My mind spins as I think about Reed’s face planted between my legs, making my entire body quake and my legs turn to jelly. I clear my throat, needing that mental image to disappear. “Where are we going tonight?”
“There’s a nightclub on the roof. We’re meeting there at ten.”
I groan. “I wanted to be asleep at ten.”
“You can’t sleep at ten. We made the plans last night.”
I have a faint memory of the discussion about tonight, but I didn’t think it was serious. “All of us. Up top. Ten.”
Even if I tell him no, Cassie and Lyra will drag me there against my will. “Fine. I’ll be ready.”
“Finish the drink, and then we nap. The cabana’s a nice touch.”
“It’s a necessity,” I tell him, feeling a trickle of sweat run down the middle of my back.
“How much was it?” he asks me. “I know they’re a pretty penny.”
“It was a comp.”
Now it’s his turn for his eyebrows to shoot up. “A comp?” he whistles. “Impressive.”
I was shameless when I dropped my mom’s and dad’s names on the concierge, knowing it would give us perks the average person wouldn’t get. The guy is a huge fan of my dad’s, and a few promised autographs got us upgraded to a suite and a cabana for our entire stay.
I down the rest of the mimosa, already feeling the magic working through my system. I yawn as I set the glass down on the tiny table next to me.
“Sweet dreams, sugar,” Reed says as I wiggle my bottom against the towel, finding a comfortable position.
“Later, Reed,” I say, my voice sleepy and relaxed.
But when I close my eyes, all I dream of is Reed.