Chapter 3

“Do you have any disinfectant?” I asked with a hiccup. Damn hiccups!

Remy glanced over from the driver’s side. “No. Why?”

“Never mind,” I muttered, distinctly remembering something squishy being pressed against my cheek. If it was what I thought it was . . . Oh, I’m queasy.

“Why am I picking your sorry ass up from a strip club?” he asked.

“It’s guy’s night. Do you know they only drink hard liquor when they go out?” I asked, still feeling the effects of the booze. “They say beer is for at home, not for carousing.” My knotted stomach protested.

“I hate to break it to you, Jet. You’re not a guy.”

“I know, but I’m starting to wish I was. I don’t have any female friends. All my friends are men. At least if I was a man, I wouldn’t mind going to the strip club.”

“What about Mya?”

I smiled. “Yes. Mya is my friend. But she’s already cornered me today. I can’t go two rounds with her in one day.”

“Am I taking you to the chapel or to Greyson’s?”

Greyson’s? Why would he think I’d want to go there?

“To Sergio’s, please.”

He eyed me with that hard, assessing look I’ve grown accustomed to. I didn’t even flinch. Of course, that could be because the alcohol dulled my senses.

“Thank you for picking me up. The guys were still going strong, but I know my limit.”

“You’re past your limit,” he said as I hiccupped for the fiftieth time . . . give or take. They’re starting to hurt, I thought as I rubbed my chest. “But, back to my original question, why did you call me?”

I shrugged. “I knew you’d help.”

“Help as in drive you home? Or help as in clean up your messy life?”

I huffed. “As in giving me a lift to Sergio’s. I already have a plan to fix my life.”

His arched brow suggested he didn’t believe a word.

He pulled into Sergio’s parking lot and I tumbled out. I have to stop drinking.

“Thanks, Remy. I’ll see ya later,” I said with a salute and fell against the car parked next to me.

He sighed and stepped out of the car. He followed me to the elevator even though I insisted I was sober enough to make it to the apartment alone. I really was. I had sobered quickly when Chuck paid the stripper whose mischievous gaze targeted me. I just had the lingering effects. Hiccup! Dammit!

“I’ll leave as soon as you’re in the apartment,” he said, ushering me into the elevator.

“I thought you’d be on a date or something,” I said, leaning against the wall . . . or maybe it was Remy. Hard to tell.

“Then why did you call?”

“I knew you’d help if you were free.”

“And, apparently, when I’m not free too.”

“You had plans? I’m sorry. I would’ve continued on guy’s night and had Roy drop me off afterward. But I was a little worried. If you start the night drinking at a strip club, it can only go downhill from there.”

He glanced over as the elevator door opened. “You wouldn’t have made it that long.”

“I can drink like a fish if I have to.”

Remy arched his brow as I sagged against him to walk down the hall. Abruptly halting when he neared the apartment, I bounced against him and fell forward. He grabbed the back of my shirt before I took a nosedive.

“Someone broke in,” he warned, shoving me behind him.

“How do you know?” I whispered, peeking around.

Even though I couldn’t see Remy’s eyes, I was pretty sure he was rolling them. “Jet, the door is broken. It’s rather obvious.”

“Oh,” I said, with a wave. “It’s been broken for months. Muffin’s destruction knows no limit.”

“You’ve been staying here with a broken door?”

“It locks,” I said, handing him the key.

He ignored the key and thumped the door. It swung open with hardly a protest.

“Remy, are you growling? You kinda sound like a bear.”

He stalked into the flat. “Where’s your stuff?”

“At my apartment.”

“Where do you sleep?”

“In bed.” Really, he was being tedious.

“What bed?”

I meandered over to my pity corner and plopped down. “Right here,” I said, stretching out.

“That’s the floor.”

“It’s good for my back. I’m not getting any younger. A person needs a good, firm mattress . . . or floor.”

“What you need is a firm swat to your backside!” he blustered. “Get off the floor. I’m taking you home.”

“I don’t have a home,” I pouted. “Muffin and her lil’ piñata have taken over.”

He crossed the floor in two steps, plucking me off the ground, and . . .

“Dammit, Remy! This is getting old!” I grumbled as my cheek pressed against his back. He had flung me over his shoulder . . . again! “You’re acting like a troll! Do you fling all women over your shoulder?”

“None!” he growled.

“My stomach’s queasy.”

After he grumbled and scolded all the way to the parking lot, he plunked me into the car.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Where you belong,” he snipped as he floored the car, slamming me back in the seat.

“Why are you mad? I’ve already slept at Sergio’s for a week and nothing has happened. Another night wouldn’t hurt. What do you care anyway?”

“I care enough to look out for you. You’re like the annoying little sister I never wanted.”

“Gee, thanks,” I muttered.

We both stewed in silence until I realized we were past the glitzy Vegas lights. The dawning of where he was taking me had me clawing at the door to escape. Crap!

“You can’t dump me on Greyson’s doorstep!” I panicked. “He might not be home. What if he’s on a date? Or brought her home to . . .” Ugh, that made my stomach flip.

“I saw him today and can guarantee he’s at home.”

“But what if he’s . . . entertaining?” There goes the stomach again.

“He’s not.”

Remy punched in the gate code and drove up to Greyson’s sprawling white house.

“I’m not getting out,” I said, crossing my arms.

He ignored my protest and slid out. I watched as he walked to the front door and rang the doorbell . . . and again.

Greyson must be sleeping . . . or . . .

Several minutes later the door opened and a man appeared. Who is he? He looked familiar. It wasn’t until he walked out in his bare feet and opened the car door that I realized.

“You look like shit,” I said, eyeing Greyson. He was completely disheveled—and not because we woke him up. In fact, it appeared as if he hadn’t slept for days. A week’s worth of beard darkened his face, and his hair looked as if it hadn’t seen a comb for the same amount of time.

He peered back with a tired smile. “I could say the same about you, but you have a wicked right-hook. Come inside,” he said with a dry, rumpled voice.

It was a simple request that I couldn’t ignore. He reminded me of a wounded bird. Protective instincts had me stepping out of the car and into his weary open arms. They closed around me in a soothing embrace.

“Let’s go inside. You need sleep,” I said, wondering what had happened.

Did a family member die?

“Easier said than done,” he said, placing a gentle kiss on my forehead.

As I walked with Greyson into the house, Remy said a quick good-bye and sprinted to his car. He gunned it down the driveway and out of sight.

“Come on,” I said, walking Greyson to his bedroom. “I’ll tuck you in.”

He didn’t put up a fuss nor did he try to seduce me. He followed along as if he was in a trance—even when I tumbled into the wall, taking him with me. Clearly he hadn’t slept for days. Once we neared his bed, my suspicions were confirmed. All the decorative pillows were perfectly piled on the bed. No man replaces decorative pillows once he’s slept in the bed. Unless a housekeeper came to clean today, he hasn’t touched it.

He let me tuck him into bed, and I gave him a kiss goodnight. I was aiming for his forehead but managed to get his nose. Before I could retreat to a guestroom, he clasped my hand and said, “Stay.”

Once again, I couldn’t ignore the request. My heartstrings tugged because I knew what he was feeling. I felt the same hollowness reflected in his eyes.

I turned off the lights and tumbled into bed. His arms curled around, holding me tight.

He pressed a kiss behind my ear and said, “Thank you.”

We both drifted to sleep . . . and it was the most peaceful sleep I’d had in a long time.

 

* * *

 

Stirring awake to the sound of water, I cracked open my eyes and peered around the room. Greyson’s room. After a moment of confusion, I remembered Remy dropping me off and slipping into bed with Greyson.

Tossing the covers aside, I crawled out and held my head. Damn. Damn. Damn. I’m never going out on guy’s night again! I stumbled to the window and pressed my forehead against the cool window pane. I gazed at the backyard and was instantly confused.

What in the world is he up to?

The shower turned off and moments later Greyson walked out of the bathroom wearing only a towel and a beard. It wasn’t a bad look. Quite rugged and sexy, to be honest.

He stilled as he watched me watch him.

“Good morning” was his tentative greeting as he eyed me warily.

“Why is there a giant crater in the backyard?”

He ran his fingers through his wet hair as he searched for an answer. “Therapy, I guess. Do you want breakfast?”

“Coffee would be great. I don’t think I can stomach anything more.”

A shy smile appeared. “You were a bit tipsy.”

“Yes. A bit.” I returned his smile.

“Well,” he said, looking around the room to avoid eye contact. “I’ll go make coffee. You know your way around. Help yourself to my clothes.” He snatched a pair of jeans draped on a chair and slipped out the door.

That was awkward, I thought as I glanced outside at the crater again.

Therapy.

Tearing my eyes away from the window, I stepped into the bathroom to take a much-needed shower. I braced myself against the tiled wall, letting the water fall.