"Ya are a ray of sunshine when ya got a hangover, huh?" he asked, smiling a bit as I growled at the sound of high heels on the floor above me.
"It's all their fault. They force fed me inferior liquor."
"They bein' Lenny and Peyton?" he asked, head cocking to the side slightly, eyes roaming over me. I was sure I was a real pretty sight right about then too.
Oh, well.
Let him see my ugly.
Better to get that shit out of the way early.
All that was left was to show him the stretch marks on my ass.
Actually, with my cheeky panties in AC, he'd likely already seen those as well.
"They're an interesting cast of characters," I agreed, folding my legs inward, wishing I had a blanket to cocoon myself into.
At least I hadn't thrown up. Small miracles.
"They are that," he agreed, tone warm.
"Roderick walked me home," I told him, not sure why my words had an edge, almost as though I was attempting to rub it in his face.
"Way I heard it, he carried ya. And ya talked about me the whole way."
"I did not," I objected, feeling humiliation rise up unexpectedly.
"Fine. Half the way," he allowed, shrugging. "Still an ego boost."
"Of which you were not in the need. Besides, everyone knows that you can't trust what people say when they're drunk."
"Even if ya said ya been havin' wet dreams about me since I left ya on the couch that night?"
"I did not say that!" Oh, God. Please tell me I did not say that. Even if it was true. I would never be able to face Roderick again if that were true.
"Fine, ya didn't say that," he conceded. "But that flush on yer neck says I was right. Ya gonna try to deny it?"
"Can't help it if my body wants something that isn't good for it. Hence my hangover," I added, draining what was left of my coffee.
"Not good for it? Lou," he said, scooting across the coffee table, leaning so his elbows were on his knees, putting him in my space. Normally, that would make my body hum with anticipation. But I was pretty sure booze was leaking through my pores. I didn't want him catching a whiff of that. "Think we established the last time I was here that I am very good for ya."
"Oh, pl..."
"Or was I imagining the way ya were so wet that I could feel it through yer panties, duchess? Was that just my imagination?"
"It is the asscrack of..." I started, glancing at the clock, "noon," I went on, cringing a bit. I never slept in this late. "It's too early for this."
"Been weeks, Lou. Think we've waited long enough for this talk."
"I thought what was on your mind was not talking," I said, unfolding my body, stretching out my legs, and moving to stand, silently praying my stomach didn't pitch at the movement. I just needed to get away, get some space to clear my head.
"I want to not talk with ya more than ya know, duchess. But we got to do some talking too."
"About what? Favorite positions? Birth control options?" I asked as I moved behind the couch, glad when he stayed perched on the coffee table.
"Would love to talk about that too. Soon. In detail," he added, those lips curving up all devilishly. Damn him. He was somehow attractive even during an epic hangover. "But we got other shite to discuss first."
"I hardly..." I started, getting cut off by the shrill ring of my phone, making me hunch forward, pulling my shoulders up to my ears before diving at it like a lifeline, glad for any distraction right then.
"What?"
"Need you," Geoff's voice all but hollered into my ear, making my eyes shut against the pain piercing my brain.
"Not a good time, Geoff," I told him as I reached for the Advil with one hand while pouring more coffee with the other. It was time to get this fucking hangover off my head. Meds. Coffee. Water. And something greasy. That was what I needed.
"What? You getting your nails done, Lou? You're gonna have to ruin your manicure. I got a live one."
"There's always a live one. And you have four other guys on staff. Call one of them."
"Already did. Just got back from the hospital, visiting Christian. Who got twenty stitches and a concussion for his trouble."
I liked Christian.
He looked like an All-American quarterback.
And fought like a kid raised on the streets.
If he got hurt, the skip had fought hard and dirty. If he fought hard and dirty, there was no way he was planning on coming in. That made him wild and unpredictable.
And that made him my kinda skip.
"What is the payout?"
"Five grand for you. Not a big one, but if it is any consolation for your righteous ass, he beat the shit out of his pregnant girlfriend, then bullied her into dropping the charges."