Ready for You (Ready #3)(2)

Good luck, buddy.

I’d given up on that hope years ago. Sitting up, I ran my hands over my face and tried to calm my nerves. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the glint of a mostly empty bottle of tequila sitting on my nightstand. Looking through my hands, which were still covering my face, I saw the bra first, then the dress, and finally the heels. They were all scattered among my own clothes on the floor.

My head began to pound like a drum as I slowly pieced together the night before, remembering the copious amounts of alcohol I’d consumed. I’d wandered into a bar after another long day at work, and there was a woman.

Sarah or Sierra? It didn’t matter.

I’d told her she was beautiful and offered to buy her a drink. She’d laughed at my lame jokes, throwing her head back with enthusiasm, while resting her hand on my thigh. Her laugh had been all wrong—high-pitched and too bubbly. But nothing ever was right. I’d bought her another drink, and finally, I’d followed it up by asking if she would like to have a third one—back at my place.

Shit.

Running my hands through my disheveled dark hair, I slowly turned to my right, and there she was—the owner of the dress.

Siena or Samantha?

Sadie?

I had no clue.

I was not a player. I wasn’t one of those guys who would bring a different woman home every night and brag about it to his coworkers the next day. I didn’t have notches on my bedpost, and I actually really hated the one-night stand routine. But I wasn’t a saint, and sometimes, the solitude and quiet of being alone would get to be too much, overwhelming me to the point where I would become so weighed down by it that I thought I might drown. That was when I would end up here—with a nameless woman and a f**king mess to clean up.

She really was beautiful though.

I’m a giant ass**le.

“Hey—” I started but stopped short, remembering I had no idea what to call her.

She stirred a bit, stretching like a cat, which made the sheet draped over her fall away to expose her naked body. I turned away.

“Oh.” She giggled a bit. “Good morning, Adam,” she nearly purred.

Adam, huh? I never gave my real name, but I hadn’t ever used that one before.

She reached out, searching with her fingers, but I jumped off the bed before she could touch me. I was sober. There would be no touching now. I threw on my clothes and began running around to pick up hers. Once that was done, I risked turning around.

Sitting up now but using the sheet to cover herself, she had that look. It was the same look they would all give me when I did this one-eighty routine. Her eyes darted around the room, and the confidence from her good-morning purr was now replaced with insecurity and awkwardness.

“Am I missing something? I thought we had a good time last night,” she said quietly.

I huffed out a breath. “We did,” I said even though I didn’t remember any of it. “But you need to go. I’m sorry.”

She nodded silently, and I tried to ignore the sight of her lip quivering as I put her clothes on the bed before walking out.

My apartment was small, bordering on claustrophobic, and it took exactly five steps to reach my kitchen from my bedroom. If I were to give someone a tour, it would last about ten seconds. I had one solitary bedroom, and it was barely big enough to fit my bed, nightstand, and dresser. There was one bathroom, and the kitchen and living room bled into each other so much that they were really considered one entity. To complete the bachelor pad, I had a small kitchen table that most people would probably consider more of a card table.

My sister, Clare, hated this apartment. She would refuse to use the bathroom because it was too close to the couch, and she felt like people could hear her pee. She’d said the word pee in a hushed tone, like it was a bad word. I’d tried not to laugh, but she was kind of ridiculous. Also, she was right. We could hear her pee, but I wasn’t about to tell her that. She would make me move.

After visiting for probably the tenth time and still refusing to use my bathroom, she had finally asked, Why do you live in such a shithole, Garrett?

It was a good question. I had a good job—one that would pay for a place that could eat my current apartment for breakfast. But why bother? It was just me. It would only ever be just me.

Just as I started to pour myself a cup of freshly brewed coffee, the smell beginning to do its job as my droopy eyes were prying themselves apart, my mystery date appeared in the kitchen. She looked awkward, tugging at her wrinkled black dress, as she stared at the floor. I got the feeling that she wasn’t the type of girl who did this often.

“I’m going to take off,” she said softly, her timid brown eyes peeking out from tousled blonde bangs.

“Okay,” I answered, feeling like the worst kind of ass**le on the planet.

She waited for a second, obviously stalling to see if I would follow up with anything. When I didn’t, she reached for the door and took a step forward, but I stopped her.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I just…I’m…” I didn’t know what to say. I’m f**ked-up? Permanently?

She looked up at me with those sad brown eyes that were now rimmed with tears—tears that I’d put there.

“Just answer one question. Is your name even Adam?”

“No,” I answered honestly. I didn’t volunteer my real name. What was the point?