A Little Too Late (Madigan Mountain #1)(26)

When I pictured this quick trip to Colorado, walking around with a sexy, angry, wasted Ava wasn’t anywhere in my plans.

“I could ask Ralph at the front desk,” she murmurs. “Not that he’s supposed to leave his post. God this room is nice.”

“Isn’t it?” I pick up a remote control off the mantel and point it at the fireplace. When I hit the button with the flame on it, the fire whooshes to life.

“Oh, that’s cozy.” Ava drifts toward the fireplace. She sinks down, somehow missing the couch that faces the fireplace, and ends up seated right in front of it, legs stretched out before her. The room is mostly dark, so the firelight flickers over her skin. “This is living. I just wanted to go somewhere and be the guest for once. I just wanted a vacation. And a promotion. Is that too much to ask?”

She’s talking to herself and not me, so I don’t offer any advice. I move over to the sofa and sit down on it.

A moment later, her head lolls against my knee. It feels so natural to reach down and smooth her hair with the palm of my hand. My chest tugs at the familiar softness under my fingers.

“Oh wow,” Ava says, her head growing heavier against my knee. “That’s nice. Nobody ever touches me.”

My hand freezes on her head. “That is a damn shame,” I whisper. Honestly, I’d always imagined her off having an amazing life. Healing people at the hospital. Getting married. Having kids.

Yeah, when I allowed myself to think about her, that was the vision I saw.

“I mean, I’ve had sex,” she says.

Okay, I don’t want to picture that at all. Nope.

“Not good sex,” she clarifies. Then she turns her chin and looks right at me, her eyes glittering in the dark. “Not like we used to have. God, Reed. We were so hot together. Couldn’t be in the same room without tearing our clothes off.” She gives a little shiver at the memory.

And, yup, I’m not too drunk to get hard just by picturing my senior-year dorm room, bending her over the window seat…

Just…damn.

I clear my throat. “Yup. I remember. Vividly. You were my first love, Ava. My only one, if I’m honest. No wonder it was so good.”

“I told you not to be nice to me. This is bad,” Ava says. But then right after she says it, she leans a little closer.

It ought to feel really weird sitting here with Ava in the dark, but it doesn’t. I feel peaceful. The Vista Suite fireplace lulls me into drowsiness. I’m just about to ask Ava if she wouldn’t rather just sack out here instead of heading back out in the cold, when she sits bolt upright.

“Oh no. I think I might…”

My sluggish brain is trying to predict the end of that sentence when she leaps to her feet and sprints into the bedroom. Her destination must have been the en suite bathroom, because a moment later, I hear retching.





Later, after I’ve changed into a pair of flannel pants and brushed my teeth, I try to coax Ava out of the bathroom. The puking has stopped. And I’ve already done what I can for her, like placing a fluffy towel under her knees, and bringing her a T-shirt to wear instead of her slinky dress, which I helped her out of before I hung it up in the closet.

And I absolutely did not stare at that lacy bra and the matching lacy thong. No, ma’am. I didn’t even look. Much. I slid my own T-shirt over her head as fast as I could.

“How long have I been here?” she whimpers, her head cradled on the toilet seat.

I sure hope the Madigan Mountain cleaning staff is up to snuff. “Maybe an hour?”

“Ugh. Everything hurts.”

All I can do is run a hand down her hair again and offer her a cup with another little dose of mouthwash in the bottom.

She rinses and spits. I’m sure she’s suffering, but I hope she’s not also experiencing the same cascading memories that I am tonight.

Ten years ago, Ava was pregnant with our baby, and she had two solid weeks of morning sickness. I’ve been in this place before, comforting her as best I could. Holding her hair and bringing her mouthwash to swish—it’s probably even the same brand.

It made me so happy to care for her. We were a team, and we had a future together. Nothing scared me.

Or so I thought.

“Okay. I think I’m done,” she mutters.

“Good,” I say quietly. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep?”

“Okay,” she says drunkenly. “I can do that right here.”

“No, no. Come on. Up you go.” I take her hand and guide her slowly to her feet. She groans a little but allows me to lead her to the king-sized bed, which I’ve already turned down for her on the side closest to the bathroom.

She moans when her head hits the pillow.

I spend a few more minutes tidying up in the bathroom, leaving the place clear of obstacles in case she needs to hurry in again.

Ava is already sleeping by the time I’m done. I walk around to the other side of the bed. There’s no point in me trying to get comfortable on the sofa. Morning will be here practically the minute after I close my eyes.

I slip into the luxurious bed, shut off the lamp, and pull up my side of the comforter, which is like a big, fluffy cloud.

Madigan Mountain Resort is nice, I have to admit. This bed gets five stars. Just as I’m about to drift off, Ava sighs sleepily. Then she rolls over with the typical grace of a drunk—which is none. “You smell niiiiiice,” she says to my shoulder.