There was no warning when the orgasm ripped through him, shards of electricity racing up his spine.
“Oh, fuck, yes,” Reese growled, driving into him one final time as he shouted Brantley’s name.
Accepting Reese’s weight, Brantley held him as they both came down.
“No doubt about it,” Reese rasped, “that was one hell of a way to start the year.”
“Damn straight.” He banded his arms tightly around Reese. “New Year’s resolution: get fucked within an inch of my life every single day.”
Reese lifted his head, grinned widely. “Perhaps we should see how many days in a row we can make that happen.”
“I’m game if you are.”
*
He was drunk.
No, amend that.
He was fucking wasted.
Worst part about it, Baz knew he was, yet he was using it to justify his actions. Hence the reason he was here with this woman he did not know.
“Hence,” he muttered. “Hence. Hints. Sss. Hensss-uh. Hen. Sa. Such a stupid fuckin’ word. ”
Blondie returned from the kitchen with the glass of water he requested, her eyes hooded, a smile on her kiss-swollen mouth. “Did you say something?”
Baz shook his head, forced a smile, and downed the entire contents of the glass. When he was finished, Blondie—she’d told him her name, he knew that, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember it—was at his side again, her thigh up against his, her hand gliding closer and closer to his traitorous cock.
“What should we do now?” she asked, her voice breathless, likely what she considered seductive, but sounded more like innocence and hope.
She answered her own question with, “I can think of a few things.”
God. What the fuck was he doing here?
Because he didn’t want to talk, Baz pulled her closer so he didn’t have to look her in the eye as he indulged in something he didn’t necessarily want.
The kissing went on for what felt like an eternity; all the while Baz enjoyed the euphoric feeling that overwhelmed him. It had nothing to do with this woman or her lips but rather the blessed absence of his feelings for JJ. The alcohol was doing its job, suspending him in a lovely state of … nothingness. And the blonde was helping things along by being all soft and sweet and making those little whimpers that told him she was definitely into this.
“I think I’ll slip into something more comfortable,” Blondie said when she pulled away the next time.
Baz found his own comfortable by flopping onto his back and tucking a throw pillow beneath his head as he smiled up at her. At least he hoped it was a smile. He couldn’t really feel his lips anymore. The whiskey had taken care of that, too.
“Don’t go anywhere,” she said sweetly, fluttering her eyelashes, something he’d noticed she did often.
When he tried to reply but no words would come out, Baz settled for shaking his head, not bothering to lift it from the cushion.
Once her footsteps had receded in the next room, he glanced around, took in Blondie’s apartment.
Frowning, he turned and lifted his head, noticing for the first time all the twinkly lights on the ceiling and walls. For a minute, he thought his eyes were affected by the whiskey, too, but then he realized those were really little lights she’d used to decorate. Fairy lights, he thought they were called.
How the hell he knew that, Baz wasn’t sure. Nor did he want to know. The only thing he knew for a fact was that JJ would laugh her ass off if she came home to find someone had put up little twinkly lights all over her house.
Nope. Nuh-uh. He was not gonna think about JJ anymore.
And clearly Blondie was a big fan of purple, too, since the only other thing he could see besides the twinkling shit was purple shit. Every-fucking-where. Jars and vases filled with purples stones, different shades, different sizes. Trinkets and frames. Rugs. Blankets. Flowers. Pillows. Pillows with flowers. It was like an explosion of … the purple people eater.
Yep, even his thoughts were drunk.
What the fuck was he doing?
Twisting his head, he peered toward the bedroom door as cold washed over him. Baz did not want to be here. He shouldn’t be here. He should be home in his bed. Alone.
“I hope you’re ready,” came a singsong voice from down the hall.
“Oh, hell,” he muttered before clamping his eyes shut and sliding down so he was lying on the couch again.
If he was lucky, she would think he was asleep.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” she teased, the weight of her returning as she straddled his hips.
Instinctively, he reached up, put his hands on her thighs, slid them up to her hips.
And damn it all to hell, she was curvy and soft and so damn feminine. His cock made the connection, decided it liked the fact that she was hot and eager for attention. And his brain … well, his brain was completely on board with the euphoria that came along with the distraction. His heart, on the other hand… That damn organ was clenching tightly in his chest, shouting that this was wrong, that he loved JJ and he was stupid to be here.
But his brain and his cock overruled his heart, telling the damn thing it was stupid. JJ didn’t love him back and he was simply wasting time.
When Blondie leaned down, her breasts pressing against his chest, her lips sliding over his neck, Baz kept his eyes closed, allowed the sensations to mingle with the whiskey, numbing him once again. All thoughts of where he was, what he was doing, and whether or not he would have regrets come morning slipped away. As did his clothes, hers.
And a short time later, after she rode him like a wild stallion, Baz lay in the darkened room, let her cover him like a blanket while self-loathing tried to seep through the lingering effects of the whiskey.
Thankfully, it wasn’t long before he drifted off.
Or maybe a better way to describe it was passed out.
The next thing he knew, Baz was rolling over, opening his eyes, trying to acclimate to where he was, why he was there.
He exhaled heavily, before closing his eyes with a groan as it all came back to him. The bar, the whiskey, the blonde with the soft, curvy body and all her purple twinkly shit.
“Good morning, sleepyhead.”
The cheerful voice had him wrenching open an eye, peering up at her.
Nope. It wasn’t a dream. There was the blond woman from the bar, smiling down at him like she was happy to see him.
Oh, hell. Had he…? Had they…?
“Feeling better?” she asked with a giggle.
“I don’t know,” he admitted truthfully, trying to ignore the unease tightening his gut. “Am I?”
He forced his head to clear so he could recall the rest of the events of last night.
Going to HQ. Talking to JJ. The diner. Moonshiners. Beer.
Definitely didn’t explain the blinding pain behind his eyes.
Oh, right. He’d only started off drinking beer last night. That had quickly turned to whiskey. One Jack and Coke, then another. After that, those morphed into half a dozen shots until he’d had enough to make driving impossible. But since he was here with Blondie in what he assumed was her apartment, apparently that hadn’t been an issue.
“You passed out on me, you silly boy.”
Silly boy? What was she, twelve?
Jesus Christ, please don’t let her be under eighteen. She couldn’t be. She’d been drinking last night.
He exhaled his relief.
“And to think, I got all dressed up for you and you didn’t even take time undressing me again.” Another giggle. “You just whooshed it all off me like a starving man.”
There were flashes of memory, her, him, the couch. Her lying on him, rolling on a condom, riding him like he was a contender in the Kentucky Derby.
God, he’d lasted, what? All of three minutes, maybe? The whiskey had certainly affected his ability to perform.
Not that you’d know it by the enormous smile on her face.
Hating h
imself, he let his gaze run down her form from head to toe. She wasn’t dressed up for him now.
“I got dressed, silly goose,” she said, swatting his shoulder and giggling as though he’d told a joke.
Oh, shit. He’d said that last part aloud.
He forced another smile then grimaced because even that hurt.
“Didn’t want to tempt you too much,” she continued. “I’m meeting some friends this morning for brunch. We’re kicking off the new year right. Thought maybe you’d like to go with me.”
Baz winced. He wasn’t sure if it was from the thought of food or the thought of spending more time with this woman when all he wanted to do was jump in the shower so he could get clean.
“It’ll be fun,” Blondie added, clearly not picking up on his discomfort. “I can introduce you to everyone. And when we’re finished, we can come back here and pick up where we left off. Without the alcohol this time.”
Where they left off? They’d had sex. Once. Which was one time more than he’d intended.
His gaze shifted over to Blondie, who was whistling while she tucked things into her purse.
Pathetic. That was what he was. Absolutely fucking pathetic.
Sitting up, he dropped his head in his hands. Surprisingly, the hangover wasn’t as bad as he expected. Sure, his head hurt, but it was only a dull throb as long as his eyes were closed.
His gaze snagged on the glass of water and bottle of aspirin sitting on the small glass coffee table, right beside a basket of purple flowers.
He didn’t hesitate, snatching the bottle, pouring out a couple of pills, then downing them with the water.
“So? Would you like to go with me?” Blondie crooned happily.
“Sorry,” he muttered, setting the glass down and reaching for his phone. “Can’t.” He forced himself to look up at her. “How did I get here?”
“I drove you.” She smiled brightly. “Your friends took your truck.”
Right. He remembered Reese prying his keys from him, insisting he not drive. Said he could get his truck at HQ in the morning.
Fucking great.
And now he was stranded… “Where are we?”
This time Blondie frowned, her sky-blue eyes darkening with displeasure. “We’re at my place.”
“I figured that much,” he grumbled, motioning to the purple shit everywhere. “I mean, where? What city?”
“Round Rock.”
At least that was good news. Round Rock was just a hop, skip, and a jump from Coyote Ridge. He could get to his truck in minutes. Probably even walk it if he was so inclined.
Which he wasn’t.
Pulling up his Uber app, he intended to call for a car, but Blondie interrupted his attempt.
“I’ll drive you,” she blurted. “I mean, if you want me to.”
Although it would certainly be easier, Baz knew it wasn’t a good idea. The last thing he wanted was to lead this woman on, to make her think there was any chance of something happening between them. Something more.
Without responding, he keyed in his information on the Uber app, submitted it. It appeared luck was on his side, because there was a car only a few minutes out.
“I don’t want you to be late for your … brunch.”
“It’s only eight o’clock,” she said, pouting. “I’ve still got a couple of hours.”
He stared back at her, confused as to why she looked like she was ready to walk out the door. Before he could ask for details, he realized he didn’t care. He needed to get out of there before he did something stupid, like fuck her to make her feel better. He never had been all that good with confrontation.
Thankfully, his phone buzzed, signaling his driver was approaching.
“I gotta go,” he said, getting to his feet.
He felt for his wallet, tucked his phone in his pocket, then paused and peered over at her. It was then he realized he had no idea what to say to make this situation better. Hell, he didn’t even know her fucking name.
So, to avoid making it weirder than it already was, Baz made a beeline for the front door. When he stepped outside, the sun speared his brain through his retinas, but he ignored the pain.
After all, it was the least he deserved.
Chapter Twelve
Friday, January 1, 2021
JJ woke to a throbbing in her skull so sharp it dragged a moan from her.
The instant she tried to open her eyes, it was like a thousand tiny ice picks began hacking away at her brain.
Not doing that.
Closing her eyes again, she lay completely still in her bed, attempting to breathe through the pain, trying to remember why she’d decided to tie one on last night. Hadn’t she learned her lesson the last time she’d overindulged? She remembered clearly promising to never do it again for this very reason.
Stupid idea.
A deep breath in through her nose, out through her mouth became her sole focus as she fought the wave of nausea that overwhelmed her. She didn’t know how long she remained like that, but it was long enough for the feeling to abate somewhat, but not long enough for her to be in the clear, because the instant she tried to get up, she was leaning over the edge of the bed, retching.
As she fought to breathe deeper, she became aware of the smell. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but it was horrid. And likely the reason—combined with the throbbing pain in her head—why she was trying to expel whatever was in her stomach, which appeared to be nothing at all.
What the fuck had she done last night to make her bedroom smell like that? Good God, it was awful.
JJ clutched the edge of the mattress, dropped her head to the pillow, and forced one eye open to look at the clock.
Eight thirty. In the morning?
She groaned.
What the hell? When was the last time she’d slept that late? Then again, she hadn’t gotten obscenely drunk in a really long time either, so it made sense, she was simply dredging up all those bad habits she’d purposely disregarded when she’d decided to be a better person.
She needed to get up, get moving. A shower would likely work wonders to clear the fog. That and some aspirin, some coffee. Oh, God, yes. Coffee. It sounded heavenly right now.
When she went to move, the ice picks started up again, so she squeezed her eyes shut and relaxed.
Okay, maybe not right right now. Soon, though.
Wanting to block out the light streaming in through the windows, JJ smacked her hand behind her, attempting to find one of the many extra pillows she kept on her bed so she could cover her head. There were half a dozen, she just needed—
It wasn’t a pillow she felt.
Whatever it was was wet.
“Eww. What the hell did I do? Throw up in the bed?” she whispered roughly, thoroughly exasperated with herself.
Because she refused to lie in vomit no matter how bad her head hurt, JJ forced herself to sit up, let the dizziness fade while she breathed through the pain.
“A little better,” she finally said, covering her nose to avoid inhaling the stench.
With every jarring movement, her head hurt worse, so she took a minute. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she swiped a hand over her hair only to find a lump. A painful one.
“What the fuck?”
Then, as though that knot was the button to release her memories, it all came back to her.
Coming home.
Dante. Paranoid.
Making coffee.
Pain.
“Oh, shit.”
JJ was on her feet, but that lasted all of a second when she turned around to find—
She barely managed to stifle the scream as she covered her mouth again and stared in absolute horror at the scene in her bedroom.
Blood everywhere.
Soaking her bed, her pillows. There were bloody handprints and streaks down her walls. It looked like a room right out of a horror flick, one where the serial killer just finished hacking up his twentieth victim.
Slowly s
he peered down at herself, cringed when she saw she was also doused in blood. It decorated her sweatshirt, her jeans, but oddly enough, it wasn’t on her hands or arms. What had she done? Wash up before she went to bed?
To make sure it wasn’t her blood, she dared to pat her stomach, chest, legs, feeling for some sort of pain that might alert her to an injury.
Nope. Not her blood.
Did that make it better or worse?
The overwhelming coppery stench permeated her nose, made her stomach churn.
She could not be sick. Nope. No way. It would only make things worse. This was a crime scene. It had to be, right? Based on the amount of blood, someone was in need of a hospital. Or maybe a morgue.
Her breaths came in harshly, escaping on broken sobs as she stumbled to get out of the horror show. She made it to the doorway, paused to look at the dried blood that had dripped down the jamb. What the hell had happened?
On to the bathroom door in the hall, but she didn’t stop. She used the wall to keep her upright, her knees threatening to give out as she moved toward the living room.
JJ made it two more steps…
This time the scream escaped, barreling up her throat and piercing the air.
*
After the Uber dropped him at Brantley’s, Baz opted to go into HQ for a minute. Not only did he have to take a piss, he figured some coffee would go a long way to clearing the fog from his brain, allowing him to be a bit more coherent when he got behind the wheel of his truck.
That and he was stalling, he figured. What was there to do at his apartment besides sleep the rest of the day away? That or plant his ass on his couch in front of the television and drown in his own self-loathing. Either way, it was a pretty pathetic way to start the new year.
Then again, a one-night stand with a woman he knew he didn’t have a single thing in common with was pretty pitiful, too.
As was waking up on some stranger’s purple-flowered couch.
Looked like he was still on a roll.
Baz had just made it into the small kitchenette to start the coffee brewing when his cell phone rang.
His heart both leapt and fell when he saw JJ’s name on the screen.
Without hesitation, he tapped the screen to take the call.
Deadly Coincidence (Brantley Walker: Off the Books Book 4) Page 14
