I hit the hard surface, half sprawled across the road. Gravel pierced my palms, and I groaned.Son of a bitch, that hurt.And to top it off, I lost the damn bottle. I shoved myself into a sitting position, feeling the ground around me. Blinded by the impeding headlights, I lifted my hands in front of my eyes to ward off the glare.
Brakes shrieked, piercing my ears.
And in my sluggish brain, I had a second where my life flashed before my eyes.
Holy shit.
I’m going to die.
I squeezed my eyes shut, having no desire to watch the car hit me, and just waited for the impact. The high-pitched sound of metal grinding on metal finally ceased after the longest moments of my life. It took a few more before I could peel my eyes open.
I stared at a black bumper, headlights beaming on either side of me. The car was so close, I could have stuck out my tongue and licked it.Oh. My. God. I’m not dead.
In fact, I suffered not a scratch, other than the ones I sustained when I fell, but that was my fault and nothing to do with almost being hit by a car. The driver must have impeccable reflexes.
A bubble of hysteria left my lips, and I was two seconds away from either laughing or crying. My brain couldn’t decide which. Through the darkness, I heard a car door open, followed by footsteps. Then a deep voice said, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I wanted him to step in front of the light so I could see who it was.
“Why is it you are always stumbling into me drunk, Firefly?”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Recognition ribboned inside.
No. It can’t be.
But it was.
I lifted my eyes. Brock Taylor stared down at me, his lips pulled into a thin line, and a glint of some emotion in his aqua eyes.
Chapter Nine
Two silhouettes of the hottest guy I’d ever seen wavered in front of the headlights, his dark hair windblown like he’d been driving with the windows down. A soft beat of music drifted out of the car. “Brock?” I mumbled, thinking this had to be a hallucination. Or fate. I couldn’t figure out which made more sense.
The devil or the angel.
I decided that Brock was both.
He leaned against the front bumper, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “What are you doing in the road?” he asked as if it wasn’t the oddest question.
And to me in a buzzed state, it seemed a very responsible inquiry. “Looking for the bourbon,” I replied. “I dropped it. After I tripped. Or was it before?” I let out a little giggle. “I can’t remember.”
His lips twisted. “Clearly.”
I was still on the ground, banged up some and feeling woozy, but as I stared up into Brock’s amused face, I didn’t know if it was the alcohol or him that was making me feel so unstable. “Are you making fun of me?”
“I assure you there is nothing funny about this situation. I nearly killed you.” His tone was so casual.
“Right. I had a bad day,” I explained.
This seemed to pique his interest. “I can’t imagine.”
I snorted. “Bullshit.” We stared at each other, and something passed between us that caused my lips to twitch. What was it about this guy that made me smile?
He shook his head and held out a hand for me. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”
I stared at his hand a brief moment before slipping mine into it. He pulled me to my feet and frowned as his gaze glanced over me.