Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 66259 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66259 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Killian
I shouldn’t have kissed her. I also shouldn’t have picked her up because apparently it caused something to happen in her stomach which means something happened near my shoes and narrowly grazed my right hand.
It takes a ten minute traumatic walk to get to our townhouse suite overlooking the Columbia River. It’s modern, around three thousand square feet, and I’m actually glad that she’s in my arms because she could easily fall off that cliff into the vineyards and go splat.
There are chairs for laying out, a bonfire pit, and a small hot tub out front, and when we walk in, everything is in blacks, whites, and purples. It’s not too much, the floors are gray cement. And floor to ceiling windows give an incredible view of the cliffs below from the living room.
I walk into the master and gently set her on the bed, then go into the extravagant bathroom, grab a towel, wet it and walk over to her, wiping her mouth just in case.
She moans and flips onto her side. “Whyyyyyyy?”
“Because bourbon,” I answer for her.
The front door opens. Dustin walks in with our bags and takes a look around. “Is she okay?”
“She died!” Scarlett announces.
I tilt my head. “I think, I think she’s still drunk.”
“I puked the drunk,” she adds, a groan follows.
“Ah,” Dustin sets down her black bag and garment bag near the closet and hangs up my garment bag. “Well, I’ll make a coffee run then, the lobby makes incredible lattes. We’ll sober her up before the dinner.” He snaps his fingers. “You have the song ready, right?”
Everything in my body freezes. “The song? What song?”
Dustin’s eyes widen. “The email? The request from the bride for a special song just for her?”
“NO!” Scarlett jolts up. “She doesn’t get to have you sing to just her! That was my thing!”
She stumbles to her feet. “You…” She snaps her fingers at Dustin. “…grab me coffee, I’m going into the shower, I’m sobering up, I’m washing my hair and if anyone gets sung to, it’s me!”
She promptly turns and walks right into a wall.
“Oooh.” Dustin makes a cringy face. “That sounded like cartilage.”
Scarlett turns toward us. “I’m fine!”
Blood starts streaming from her nose.
What did I do to deserve this?
I walk over and pinch the bridge of her nose and tilt her forward and walk her into the bathroom, forcing her to sit on the toilet lid. “Stay.”
Tears fill her eyes.
“And if you cry, I’m not helping you,” I add. I’m weak for tears. I used to think they were pathetic, but with her? They make her prettier, and somehow, through the puking, she still has pink lipstick on. And it still makes me think of our kiss and how I wanted more despite how much I want to strangle her for what she said.
If word gets out.
It won’t.
It can’t.
That’s what Dustin’s for.
I mean, this is a secluded private event, there are no paparazzi, and we said no pictures, the contract was extremely specific to avoid calamity.
Enter Scarlett.
She’s a walking disaster.
Is it because of her ex or is it because of me?
I don’t know. But I will ask because this is getting borderline ridiculous on both our parts. I can’t seem to be fighting the girl that let me go. Neither of us want to take the blame from eighth grade, so now I’m the one taking the blame for her supposed wedding night when I walked out.
I did the right thing. Right?
“I feel like shit.” Scarlett sits on the toilet and hangs her head in her hands, her hair’s covering her face, but I know how pretty she still looks. “And I know I’m being ridiculous but…” She takes a deep breath. “It just sucks, all of this sucks. I’m petty if I don’t come to the wedding, right? I’m petty for not forgiving her or him, but—” She sniffles. “Did it have to be my sister? Did it have to be in our bed? Did it have…” She stops herself. “I need to shower and get ready.”
She looks anything but ready.
And I’m truly afraid she’s going to pass out in the shower or decide that a power nap under the hot water is the best idea she’s ever had.
“Well…” I lean down and grab her hand. She jerks back at first, but I hold it firm. “The only choice you have is to march in there and pretend like none of it matters, get blindly drunk when you get home, and just power through the weekend. But first you need to clean up.”
She looks over at the shower and sighs. “My Everest.”
Even looking like a hot mess and she’s still shockingly pretty. I release her hand, walk over to the shower, and start it. “You’re not one of those girls, right?”
“Huh?” She frowns. “Use your words, I’m still half drunk.”