Falling for the Groomsman (Wedding Dare, #1)(39)

“Did I kick in my sleep?” he asked, yanking in his hair. “I seriously have no f*cking clue. I’ve never slept with anyone before.”

“I told you. I’m fine. I just—” She paused, his words sinking in. “Wait. You never slept with anyone before? I was your…your…first?”

“Yeah.” He glanced away. “Did I do it wrong?”

Her heart twisted. “No. You did nothing wrong, Tyler.”

“Could’ve f*cking fooled me,” he muttered. Once he finished gathering objects, he stared at her with narrow eyes. “I need to pack the sleeping bag, then we’re heading back.”

She bit down on her lip, her mind still wrapping itself around the fact that she’d been the first woman he’d ever slept with. “Do you even know which way to walk?”

“Yeah.” He bent down and lifted her to her feet, making sure he set her in the grass, away from the sharp rocks and twigs. “Down the mountain, just like we did last night.”

“Well, that leaves about a million options,” she mumbled, smoothing her hair.

She probably looked more zombie than human right now, and her mouth tasted about as wonderful as a week-old sock. She’d never felt more unattractive than she did right now, and of course it had to be with Tyler. If nothing else gave them closure, one look her way and he’d be done with her.

He rolled the sleeping bag up. “Do you have a better suggestion?” he asked, his tone as perfectly even as hers was. Apparently, he’d caught on to her desire to distance herself from him. “I’m open to hearing them, unlike some people in this clearing.”

“No,” she admitted. He picked up the vodka bottle and opened the lid. She eyed him. “Drinking already?”

“I’m tempted to,” he muttered under his breath, his gaze locked on her. He took the lid off and swigged it, swished it around like mouthwash, and spit it out into the grass. “Here. It’ll make your breath taste a little bit better. Just don’t swallow unless you want to.”

She took the bottle and did the same thing he did, shuddering at the taste of vodka at such an early hour. It couldn’t even be five o’clock yet, judging from the barely there dawn. The pink had crept a little bit higher, but the night still owned the sky. Once she gurgled and spit, she handed the bottle back to him and wiped her hand across her mouth.

He was right. She felt a tiny bit less repugnant.

Of course, she probably smelled like a lush, but it was still an improvement. “Thanks,” she said, her eyes averted.

“Yeah. Sure. Anytime.” He shoved the vodka into his bag. “Am I allowed to carry you off camera, or is that not allowed either?”

“Last I checked, you had my shoes in your backpack. Does it matter what I want?” she asked, her brows up. “Or is this one of those pointless questions men like to ask women?”

He hauled her into his arms without another word. She wrapped her arms around his neck, but didn’t rest against his shoulder this time. He shifted her in his arms and tipped his head upward.

“The sunrise is pretty,” he said, his tone still perfectly neutral.

She looked up at the sky, her breath catching in her throat. The pinks were now melded with oranges and reds, and the sky was almost blue. The colors were so vibrant and beautiful and perfect. She’d never have thought she would see a sunrise while cradled in Tyler’s arms. Even in Mexico, she hadn’t gotten to watch the morning arrive with him, because he’d left her.

If she weren’t careful, he’d do it to her all over again. She was only protecting herself by pulling away now. Which only made it even harder to keep him at a distance.

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Yeah. It’s beautiful.”

“Absolutely perfect,” he said, his voice hushed. When she glanced up at him, more out of habit than anything else, he was watching her with hooded eyes. Not the sunrise. “Red, I know we have a hell of a lot of—”

Loud voices came from the left, cutting him off, and Christine recognized one of them. It was Julie and another man. Maybe Reed? Christine looked through the trees, catching a brief glimpse of color. Any second now, they’d be here. Saved by the bell.

“You can put me down now,” she said.

His grip on her tightened. “Just because we have help doesn’t mean you’re walking yet. I’ll carry you to the resort, and I’ll take you to your room. Then, and only then, will I put you down.”

“Yes, sir,” she bit off, hating the way he was acting—all bossy and domineering again. Hating that she’d made him act this way with her behavior.

Julie stumbled into view, with Reed right behind her. Judging from the tight lines around both their mouths, Christine would place her money on the fact that they’d been fighting. Julie rushed forward, her brow crinkled. “What happened?”

Christine opened her mouth to reply, but Tyler cut her off. “Ankle sprain.”

Julie paled. “Oh, you poor thing. Let’s get you back to the resort right now. Ice and elevation, that’s what you need. We’ll get it fixed up real good. Don’t you worry, sweetheart. I’m going to have room service bring you up a big old cup of coffee and some chocolate. Aunt Sylvie always said there’s nothing you can’t cure with chocolate and time.” She patted Tyler on the arm. “Can you carry her the rest of the way or should—”