Lincoln's eyes widen and I realize my words can easily be taken out of context. “I mean with Tequila.” His eyebrow quirks. “A shot of tequila.”
Lincoln releases a hearty laugh and dances us over to the walk-up bar. “Two shots of Jose,” he shouts to the bartender.
“Linc, my man, what are you doing here tonight? You aren’t the clock?” the bartender responds.
I tilt my head and glance up at him. “You aren’t working tonight?”
Lincoln winks at me and takes the two shots. “It’s the only way I’d be able to drink with you. Plus, they don’t pay me to dance with gorgeous women.”
With as much as Lincoln is making me blush, I feel the need to swig the tequila faster than the last shot. “This is good tequila,” I shout over the music.
Except the music isn’t playing at the moment.
Lincoln is laughing at my record-scratch production. “Tequila is always good here,” he replies.
“Yeah it is,” Grace says. She and Macy have made their way over, dancing in circles around each other. I don’t remember the last time I’ve seen Macy tipsy, but it’s funny to watch. The two are dancing together.
“You guys are hard-core partiers tonight,” I shout to them.
“You should come home in our luggage,” Grace slurs to Lincoln.
I toss my head back, mortified that she came out with that so soon, or at all. “Hmm, you want to pack me in your suitcase?” Lincoln plays with her.
“I could do it,” she says.
“Why would you want to bring me home with you?”
“You make Alexa smile like we’ve never seen before,” Grace says, smiling with a sigh.
I’m trying my hardest not to smile because I’m embarrassed and want Grace to stop, but she’s grinning from ear to ear waiting for me to bust at the seams. I keep myself together until Lincoln gazes down at me with a smile and traces the tip of his thumb down the side of my cheek. “You sure do have a beautiful smile. I can see why they’re so insistent on seeing it,” he tells me.
“Tequila time!” I didn’t notice Macy had walked away, but wherever she was, she has come back with a bottle of tequila. “Who wants more?”
“Hey, that’s my bottle,” Lincoln tells her. “I’ll do the pouring.”
This can only go in one direction from here.
7
I have heard the country songs written about drinking tequila, and I have often laughed at them, wondering who the hell drinks so much that their clothes fall off.
Well, I can now laugh at myself. I’m not sure I could tell the difference between my hotel room and another “upgraded” suite, but wherever the hell I am right now, must be an upgraded king, presidential, Louis Vuitton suite. The balcony doors are on hinges, opened to the wide-open ocean. The bed I’m in is definitely king-size, and … my stomach is making a gnarly sound.
I press my eyelids open, forceful against the pressure. I look to each side of the bed I’m apparently slept in the middle of, but I find a half dozen pillows encasing me. The sheets still look intact on the right side of the bed. Where the hell am I?
I push myself up against the headboard, slowly, and with no sudden movements. I see I’m wearing the tank-top I had on beneath my shirt last night, and at least there are boy shorts covering my ass.
My gaze clears and I spot Lincoln to the right of the open balcony. He’s leaning into the guest chair in only his boxers. Scratching at his chin in contemplation, his focus is frozen on the water.
His body is strikingly perfect, and his tan glows against the baby-blue color of his underwear. “Hi,” I croak, squinting an eye against the blinding sun.
Lincoln twists his neck toward me. “Hey, sleepy.”
“Why am I here?” is the first thing I ask.
Lincoln laughs as if what I just asked is funny. It’s not funny at the moment though because I have a lot of questions I’m going to need to be answered in a very short amount of time before I freak the hell out. I have been scanning the room in search for proof of what went on in this bed, and I don’t know if I should worry or not that I don’t see any sign of a condom wrapper. “I didn’t think you would remember much of anything this morning,” he says.
“Yeah, nothing is coming to me. Could you fill me in?”