Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 115435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
“I don’t remember an asshole. Wait, the asshole after the jukebox? The one I almost punched out?”
“No, this was after the girls left, and you sat at the bar.”
I slowly move my head side to side. “I don’t recall that part.”
“That’s not surprising. He pulled you out of the bar and had you up against a truck by the time I got out to you.”
I open one eye and squint up at him. “And you saved me?”
“I stopped something bad from happening to you, aye.”
I blow out a shaky breath as the magnitude of that situation hits me. Fuck, I was almost raped?
The back of my nose starts to tingle as tears fill my eyes, and then Connor is lying next to me, pulling me against him, and God, it feels so good.
“Shh, nothing happened, Billie. I promise.”
“I’m so hungover,” I mutter against his chest. I want to melt into him. I want to enjoy this feeling of safety.
But I can’t because it’s not real.
“And I’m so fucking pissed off.”
“You should be angry.” His voice is grim. “Chase Wild will want to talk to you when you feel up to it. And Blake’s been calling throughout the day to check on you.”
“Blake knows?”
“I had to call a doctor,” Connor says. “And he’s your brother.”
I groan, and roll out of his arms, and cover my face with my hands. “That means my whole family knows.”
With a cringe, I sit up and the room spins a bit. I don’t feel drunk anymore, but I’m super woozy, and everything hurts.
And I’m so fucking grumpy.
“Can I get you food? You should drink more water.”
“I want to go home, Connor.”
He’s quiet for a heartbeat. His hand is on my back, and I have to take a deep breath so I don’t launch myself back in his arms and beg him to simply hold me.
This feels too good.
And I don’t trust it.
“I don’t love the idea of you being alone, angel.”
“I’ll be fine.” I move to the side of the bed and let my feet dangle, but I don’t stand yet.
I’m not convinced I won’t fall on my face, and that would be humiliating.
“We can move downstairs,” he suggests softly, as if he’s hoping I’ll stay with him. “Watch a movie and eat something while you get your strength back.”
“Connor.” I clear my throat, and he doesn’t say anything, just listens. “I appreciate your help more than you know. I hate to think—well, I won’t even say it out loud. Thank you for everything. I mean that. And I really, really”—my voice hitches—“don’t want to be a bitch to you because you’ve been so nice to me, but I’m in a super pissy mood right now, and I don’t feel good. I need to go home. Please, take me home. Or have Miller drive me.”
He's quiet for a minute, then he lets out a gusty breath. I feel him stand from the bed and hear him pad around to me, where he squats and cups my cheek, making me look him in the face.
“Promise me you’ll call one of your brothers or Dani, or Skyla, to come be with you.”
I want to tell him to piss off but remind myself that he saved my ass last night.
Maybe my life.
So I take a deep breath.
“I will. Blake will probably want to come check me out.”
He searches my eyes for a minute and nods. “Okay. You wear that shirt home. I’ll get you some shorts. Don’t move.”
He kisses my forehead as he stands, then he’s gone. When he returns, he’s put on jeans and a T-shirt.
Connor’s usually in dressier clothes, and every time I see him dressed casually, it makes my loins stand up and applaud.
Even when I feel like I’m half dead.
“Here.” He holds the black workout shorts out for me to step into. With my hands braced on his shoulders, I stand, and he works them up over my hips.
I’m standing here in his T-shirt, his shorts, and my thong from last night.
“Where’s my dress?”
“I have it,” he replies. “I’d like you to drink the rest of this bottle of water before we go.”
“I’ll take it with me.”
He starts to argue as he stands, and I take his hand in mine, holding on tight, silently begging him to understand.
“I need to go home.” It’s a whispered plea. “Please, Connor.”
His jaw tightens. “Then I’ll take you home, angel.”
He honestly needs to stop being nice because I really just want to cry. And that’s not helping.
Connor doesn’t release my hand as we walk slowly through the house. I get glimpses of wood beams and gleaming floors. Beautiful furniture. A stunning kitchen.
When we get to the front door, he helps me into my shoes from last night and leads me out to his SUV.
“These heels go with the shorts so well,” I mutter and glance over to see Connor’s half smile.