A Fallow Heart (Tommy Creek #2)(87)

She obviously hadn’t caught golden boy checking out her boobies then, Coop decided, or she’d probably be going off about that too.

“Damn,” she grumbled. “Now I really feel like an ignorant, dumbass schoolgirl. Why didn’t you tell me what a motorboat was years ago, Coop?” When he didn’t answer, she slapped his shoulder. “Hey. I’m talking to you.”

“Humph?”

“That’s it,” she said, grasping his bicep hard and hauling him upright. “You’re too drunk to stick around here. Looks like it’s time I give you a lift home.”

He shook his head. “No. Don’t wanna go home. Might worry Mama if I come stumbling in like this.”

With a sigh, she nudged him off the barstool anyway. “Then, I guess you can crash on my couch. It’s not like I’ve never had a plastered brother roll in during the middle of the night to sleep off a drunken stupor before.”

“Rudy?” Coop guessed. He didn’t think anyone in Tommy Creek drank the way B.J.’s youngest brother did.

B.J. shrugged her plaid shirt back on. “Who else?”

“Hey, you don’t have to cover those up,” he complained, frowning when she went as far as to button the shirt together.

“Too bad. Show’s over, bud. Let’s get you settled in for the night.”

He grumbled but tripped after her. “Honestly, Gilmore. You should go around like that more often.” He squinted his eyes as he tried to focus on her back, but the view kept blurring. “I bet if you tucked your shirts in every once in a while, we’d be able to see if you had a nice ass too.”

“I do,” she called over her shoulder.

Well.

He wouldn’t mind discovering that fact for himself. His eyebrows arched with interest as he hurried after her. Maybe B.J. had been right; there was a better way to force Jo Ellen out of his mind than getting rip-roaring drunk.





Chapter Twenty-Three


When he pushed out of the bar and into the warm night, Cooper turned left toward his truck and began to dig his keys from his pocket, but B.J. grabbed his elbow. “This way, bud. My rig’s parked over here.”

“Right.” He stumbled after her. “You’re driving. I forgot.”

“I figured you did.” She didn’t let go but dragged him along behind her, not even slowing her pace when he stumbled over the toes of his boots. Shaking her head sadly, she sighed. “Gah, you sloppy drunks are all the same.” Stopping in front of the passenger side of her truck, she yanked the door open. “Up you go, bud.”

He blinked at her, wavering back and forth as he tried to stand steady. “Did you just open the door for me?”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah. What of it?”

“I’m the guy,” he slurred, moving past her to climb up into the cab. “Tha’s what I’m supposed to do for you.” Christ, this was why he hated lifted four-wheel-drives. They sat up way too tall, though his own Ford probably sat up an inch or so higher.

He tripped and banged his shin on the floorboard. When he began to stumble into the interior, B.J. caught his arm. “Whoa, there, partner. Watch your step.”

Her assistance reminded him too much of the night he’d helped Jo Ellen into his truck when she’d been drunk. “I got it,” he snapped, yanking his arm from her and scowling.

She gaped back, surprise creasing her features, and then lifted her hands in surrender. “Fine. Do it your own damn self then.” Spinning away, she tromped around to her side of the truck and climbed in with all the agility and grace he lacked. She’d slammed her door and started the engine by the time he finally fumbled his way inside. Then without a word to him, she drove away from the bar.

Feeling shitty over the way he’d just behaved, he closed his eyes. Resting his head against the rear window of B.J.’s truck, he clenched his teeth the rest of the trip to her house.

He’d about passed out by the time she jarred to a stop. His eyes flew open as he began to tumble forward. Catching himself before he could nosedive into her dash, he blinked and glanced wearily across the dark cab of her pickup. She sent him an unimpressed glare.

He groaned. “I’m sorry, B.J. I have no excuse for snapping at you at the bar. I—”

“Hey, don’t worry about it.” She pushed open her door. “But don’t expect me to come around and try to help you out neither.”

He chuckled and opened his own door, half falling, half easing to the ground. He heard her boots in front of him, so he followed their sound through the inky night.

“Damn,” she muttered under her breath as he approached.

Her back screen door screeched open. “What’s wrong?” he asked, coming close enough to hold the door open for her and use it as something to lean against at the same time.

“Nothing. I just forgot to turn a porch light on before I left this evening. Can’t see jack shit in this dark.”

Cooper moved closer as he heard the rattle of keys, only thinking to help, though he had no idea how; he didn’t have a light on him. He didn’t realize he’d gotten so close until he bumped into her from behind.

“Sorry,” he rasped, grasping her hip when she lost her balance and careened forward. “Didn’t see you.”