Until the Tequila (The Killers #3.5)(2)

The Delaney is Addy’s red blend, named after her mom, and, since Addy is one of my best friends, I couldn’t exactly refuse him for the sake of friendship and all that loyalty jazz. Like the three idiots we turn into around this undercover sexy-beast, my nipples and I were speechless and had no choice but to pucker and nod.

Since I was wound tight about the possibility of my worlds colliding—the one I hate more than anything and the one I’ve come to love more than life itself—I thought a little drink to loosen me up wouldn’t hurt. Downing a half-bottle of Meritage was my pre-date coping mechanism.

Then I started in on the tequila.

All. Of. It.

Okay, fine. Maybe not all of it.

But I don’t recall leaving the restaurant so there was no chance of remembering anything after that. It turns out, Evan brought me back to his condo, put me in his bed, and I woke up in my clothes from last night.

That’s how I earned this hangover that’s stewing while Evan drives me back to my car at the winery where we met before dinner.

I’ve decided to title this latest chapter of my life from hell The Ride of Shame.

My outfit is rumpled. I have raccoon eyes. My head is pounding and my stomach is churning like the butter from my Little House on the Prairie books. But thanks to my T-3 curling iron, my hair is still leaning on the side of fabulous.

With my shoes dangling from a finger, I drag my ass and try to pretend I’m human, crawling out of Evan’s car as he follows.

He’s tall, towering over me, and I’m reminded of all the times he’s called me shortie. Leaning in, he puts his lips to my ear. “Fun night. Just so you know, we’re doing it again soon but you’re not drinking a drop of liquor, my little dandelion.”

Little dandelion?

Oh, fuck.

He knows about my obsession for the pesky weed most people work hard to abolish from their little corner of the earth. This isn’t good. What else did I blab about last night?

I squint into the sun when his hand cups my chin and tips my head back and he narrows his eyes on me. “And that little issue you told me about? I want to know more about that, too.”

Shiiiiiit.

What have I done?

I open my mouth to argue because there are so many reasons I don’t need Evan in my life right now—the top two of those being I’ve been hit by a freight train in a tequila bottle and him butting into my latest drama will certainly taint his perfect, red-Solo-cup life.

From here on out, my number one goal is to avoid Evan Hargrove.

But his thumb stops me with a brush of my lips, effectively shutting me up. “No arguments. Go drink lots of water or, if you have any, Gatorade. Pedialyte is even better. Then eat something and go back to bed. I’ll stop by later to check on you. And Mary,” he leans in farther and presses his lips to the skin just below my ear, making my already-wobbly knees about to give and make me expire like the heroines from my bodice-ripper romances, “thanks for a fun night. I thought I wanted you before, but now? I can’t wait to make you mine. Be prepared.”

Prepared? I’m not even prepared for last week.

With that, he doesn’t give me a chance to respond. He gives me that look that holds the secrets I’m afraid to learn before turning back to his car.

Shit, shit, shit. Evan was already obnoxiously persistent. And since I can’t remember anything past the bruschetta, it turns my stomach in new ways to think about what upped his relentlessness to new heights.

The bright morning sun is making it hard to think, so I do the only thing I can manage at the moment. With my racoon makeup, pounding head, and fabulous hair, I dig my keys out of my bag and fall into my driver’s seat. I need a shower, my bed, and to call July to find out what in the living hell is going on in Tennessee.





2





Calm Your Tits





Mary





I gulp down three Advil and check my phone. Two calls and a slew of texts from July last night during my drunken state, along with another voicemail from some guy in Kentucky I do not know and I’m not about to call back, has me wanting to bury myself in a hole never to see daylight again. I know I should be a responsible adult and at least return July’s call, even though I’d rather give a pedicure to an ogre than face what’s going on in Tennessee.

What’s another fifteen minutes?

I drag myself into the shower and hope the hot water will make me feel human.

It doesn’t work.

My phone vibrates on the bathroom counter as I’m drying off and I’m not surprised when I see who it is.

Clutching my towel to my chest, I greet my childhood friend. “I know you miss me but this is borderline stalker behavior. I’m thinking about a restraining order.”

“Mary, I swear, if you didn’t live nine hours away from me, I’d be knocking down your door right now. Where have you been?”

I drop my towel and grab my silk kimono robe off the back of my bathroom door, doing my best to shrug it on as I cringe, admitting to my childhood friend that I finally caved to Evan’s annoying-yet-sexy advances. “I went on a date.”

I get nothing but silence, which doesn’t surprise me because I don’t date and since July knows absolutely everything there is to know about me, I bet she’s more surprised about it than I am.