Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
A moment later, a huge, muscular man emerged from the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel, which was slung low around his hips. I drew a sharp breath and tried to stand up, but I tripped over the blanket and ended up face-planting on the carpet.
The man muttered, “Bloody hell,” and rushed over to me. As he helped me sit up, he asked, “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine. Why are you in my room?”
He sat back on his heels. “Actually, you’re in my room. Do you remember anything about last night?”
“Did we have sex?”
“Of course not. You were drunk, and I’d never take advantage of you.”
Bits and pieces of the night before started coming back to me—a cab, a café, a few clumsy attempts at hitting on this guy. “You’re Tory.”
“That’s right.”
“I don’t remember everything, but I know you were nice to me, while I was completely ridiculous.” I untangled myself from the blanket and got to my feet. There was some bedding on the couch across the room, so I said, “It looks like I capped off my drunken shenanigans by kicking you out of your own bed.”
He stood up and muttered, “Not exactly.”
A wave of embarrassment hit me as I remembered a few more details. “No, you’re right. What I actually did was try to climb you like a tree after you told me I could spend the night in your room. I guess you tucked me into bed after I passed out, and then you slept on the couch.”
“That sums it up.” Just then, there was a knock at the door. “I ordered room service before I took a shower. Come have some coffee with me.”
I mumbled, “I need a minute,” and hurried to the bathroom.
After I used the toilet and washed my hands, I frowned at my reflection in the mirror above the sink. I looked pale and tired, and what the hell was my hair doing? I’d tried to style it with gel for the wedding, and it had turned into a clumpy, spiky mess.
As I tamped it down with some water, I flashed on a memory of Tory combing my hair and washing my cheek. I’d never had anyone take care of me like that. I’d never even realized it was something I liked, but now it sent a shiver of pleasure down my spine.
I whispered, “Get a grip, Armando,” and started to leave the bathroom, but then I hurried back to the sink and used some of his mouthwash. I’d already made a terrible impression on this guy. Why add gnarly morning breath to the mix?
By the time I returned to the bedroom, Tory had gotten dressed in a pair of gym shorts and a form-fitting black T-shirt. He’d also cleared away the bedding and taken a seat on the couch.
No wonder my drunken alter ego had kept hitting on him. He was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen—and now that I was sober, that was extremely intimidating.
My hoodie was draped over the back of a chair, and as I put it on, he asked, “How do you feel?”
I considered the question before saying, “When I woke up, it felt like my head had been run over by a garbage truck. Now it feels like it’s been run over by a Ford Fiesta. So… better, I guess?”
He grinned a little. “That’s progress, I suppose.” His slight accent was unique, and as sexy as the rest of him. It sounded sort of British, but also vaguely Italian. Britalian, maybe?
I fidgeted with the hoodie’s zipper, and after an awkward pause I mumbled, “I’m so sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing?”
“Because I hijacked your entire night and made you deal with my drunken bullshit.”
“It was fine.”
“It really wasn’t.”
“Come sit down and have some coffee.”
I perched on the edge of the couch, and as he handed me a mug, I asked, “Where were you going?”
“When?”
“Last night, when I jumped in your taxi.”
“Oh. I’d asked the cab driver to take me to a bar.”
“Why? There are four in this hotel.”
“It was a specific type of bar.”
“Was it a gay bar? You said something last night about liking guys, and—oh shit! I totally cockblocked you, didn’t I?”
Tory seemed flustered. “No. I mean, yes, it was a gay bar. But you didn’t…” He paused and regrouped before saying, “I probably wouldn’t have met anyone anyway.”
“Looking like that, with your perfect hair, and handsome face, and big muscles? You would have been beating them off.” He glanced at me, and I quickly added, “With a stick. You would have been swarmed, is what I was trying to say.”
“I liked spending time with you.”
“I don’t see why. I was a train wreck.” I took a sip of coffee and said, “I want you to know I’m not usually like that. I don’t even remember the last time I got drunk, and I’m absolutely not the kind of person to cry and feel sorry for myself.”