Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 87756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
"Else..." Rome said as soon as he saw me, mid-sentence talking to someone I didn't know, his smile instantly falling.
"Alcohol," I barked at him as he walked toward me. "Rome, I want this entire night to be a vodka-soaked blurry memory."
Rome took a deep breath, like he didn't agree with my method of coping, but snagged the closest waitress and ordered a round of shots and another cocktail for me.
Three rounds later, I watched as Paine caught my eye, shook his head, tossed money on the bar, clapped his hand on a young, attractive guy with a scar down his cheek and a Henchmen emblem on his leather jacket, turned and left.
Another two rounds after that, everything was a swirling, happy, numb nothing.
And I almost, but not quite, managed to forget about Paine and the kiss and the... everything else in the alley.
There were some moments in life that not even vodka could erase.
Damn it.
Seven
Elsie
Sunday morning brought the hangover to end all hangovers. I rolled over in bed, still in my dress and scarf, sans shoes and jewelry, and vaguely aware of the memory of Roman half-carrying me up to my room, laughing as I recalled a couple particularly stupid adventures he and I had embarked on as teens, doing so with the grandeur and giggle fits only a true drunk could. I even blearily recalled him rolling me onto my back and pulling out my earrings and gently slipping my ring off my finger. I closed my eyes as I remembered his hand closing around mine for a second and squeezing.
I sat up in bed, cradling my head.
God, I was so stupid.
Poor Roman.
How long had he been showing obvious signs that he had more than friendly interest in me? As I made my way toward the bathroom, I ventured a guess that it was most likely since he came back from college. It was then that his gaze seemed to linger and his touches felt less like the brotherly jabs I had known all my life.
Years, I had been unwittingly leading him around for years.
"Oh that's lovely," I groaned at my reflection, my eye makeup smeared half down my face, my hair a tangled puffy mess. I washed my hands and pulled out my too-dry contacts, then threw myself in the shower with every ounce of admittedly small energy I had.
I chugged water, but forewent the over the counter pain medicine because, well, if I was going to do the crime, I was going to do the time. Meaning, I was going to suffer my way through a hangover. I got into light wash skinny jeans, tan bootie wedge heels, and a tan heavy knit sweater, tying a scarf around my neck, then heading out.
I stopped at a coffeehouse and a florist, unsure what the hell I was supposed to bring a near stranger to the hospital after they took a beating because they were working for you.
Barrett was on a normal hospital floor in a room by himself at the end of a hall. I felt a swirling of anxiety in my stomach as I stepped into the open doorway and saw a very sunken, bruised, and sutured Barrett Anderson lying in a hospital bed. Sitting on the windowsill, leg up, back against the window, looking somehow casually arrogant in jeans and a black long-sleeve tee, was Sawyer.
I felt my eyes roll at the smirk he gave me.
"See you met my brother," Barrett's voice called to me, sounding at once resigned and amused.
"I didn't think it was possible given how anti-social you are, but you seemed to inherit all the charm genes in your family," I said, giving him a small smile as I placed the vase on the nightstand beside his bed.
Sawyer's laugh followed me as I moved to hand Barrett his coffee. I realized this because he was suddenly at my side, taking my coffee out of the tray. "You shouldn't have," he said, bringing it up to his mouth and taking a long swig.
"I didn't. That was mine."
"Yeah, bet it would really help that hangover you got going on. Too bad it's mine now."
I turned back to Barrett who gave me a 'what can you do?" shrug. "Have I mentioned how glad I am that I hired you and not him?"
"Babe," Sawyer snorted, reaching out and snagging the side of my scarf, pulling it down to look at and show his brother my bruises. "Sure about that?"
I saw Barrett wince and felt double guilty. "I'd take getting strangled over dealing with you any day."
"Too bad I'm gonna be the one you're working with. At least until Barrett is out of here," he conceded and it was the first hint of kindness I'd seen in him.
"No. That's actually why I came. Just forget it. The case is over."