Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 101778 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101778 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
“What do you adore?” he asked, taking a few stumbling steps next to me as I guided him.
I chuckled. “No, I said, walk to the door!”
“I am walking to the door, woman!”
With a roll of my eyes, I focused on keeping this man upright. It wasn’t an easy task. His stocky frame was heavy. With the way my arm was around him, I couldn’t help but notice his muscles flexing as we walked . . . no, stumbled along. I let my silly mind wander to what he would look like without a shirt on.
Stop it right now, Lincoln Pratt!
Betty Jane opened the door for us and winked at me yet again as I walked by. “Have a good night, and don’t worry about your car!”
I mumbled under my breath about being set up and then stepped out into the cool night. A shiver ran up my spine as I searched the parking lot. I’d only seen Brock’s truck once, and the only thing I remembered was that it was silver.
“Where’s your truck?” I asked, glancing at three trucks still parked in the lot.
Shit on a stick, does everyone here drive trucks?
Brock lifted his head and looked around. “My truck is the best damn truck in the parking lot.”
“That doesn’t help, Shaw. What’s your license plate number?”
Brock turned, his big, drunk blue eyes gazing down at me. “You want my number, Lincoln? I thought you didn’t like me.”
My mouth dropped open. “Um, excuse me, but you’re the one who’s been shooting daggers at me all night long. Not to mention how rude you were to me earlier today.”
“You didn’t catch me at my best, sweetheart.”
My stomach dipped at the endearment. No one had ever called me anything like that. Not baby, babe, sweetie, or sweetheart. I was always just Lincoln. Every guy I’d ever dated called me by my first name. Even in bed, I was always Lincoln.
It pissed me off how much I liked hearing that come from Brock’s mouth. I liked it a lot . . . more than a lot.
Damn it. What is it about this guy?
“I didn’t ask you for your phone number, you drunk fool. Your license plate number on your truck.”
He frowned. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know the license plate on your own truck?”
“Nope!” he said, popping the p in the most adorable way.
I found myself smiling up at him.
“It’s the silver one on the far right!” Betty Jane called out.
I looked behind me, almost losing my grip on Brock. “And I don’t suppose you’d help me get him there . . . or Ralph, maybe?”
She laughed. She actually laughed before turning and walking back into the bar.
“Thanks for nothing,” I grumbled as I guided Brock over to the truck.
I hit the button to unlock the doors, and all the lights came on. I scolded myself for not thinking of doing that sooner. When I got to the passenger side, I not-so-gently pushed him against the back door and tried to open the front.
“Damn, woman. I didn’t peg you as a rough-sex kinda gal.”
“If you think we’re having sex right now, you’re drunker than I thought.”
Brock laughed, and it was magical. No, seriously, it was the most amazing sound I’d ever heard. And it went right to the area between my legs that was now pulsing after one laugh from a man I really didn’t want to like but was finding myself liking anyway.
“I’ms not that dunk.”
Wrinkling my nose, I said, “Huh?”
“I’ms not that dunk.”
“Do you mean to say you’re not that drunk?”
He attempted to snap his fingers and pointed one at me as he said, “Yep.” And he popped the damn p again.
I giggled. “You are a very cute drunk.”
He smiled. “I knew you liked me.”
“Don’t get cocky, Brock. I’m warming up to drunk you. Sober you is an entirely different beast.”
He licked his lips and pulled me against his body. “I bet I can find a better way to warm you up.”
Oh. My.
My body stilled, and I wanted to ask him what he had in mind.
I’d always heard the silly rumor that guys couldn’t get hard-ons when they were so drunk. I didn’t have much experience with drunk guys and sex, but what I did know was Brock Shaw was for sure hard. Very hard. And, from what I could tell through his jeans . . . very big.
I placed my hand on his chest and couldn’t ignore the instant zap of energy that raced from his body into mine. He must have felt it, too, because he inhaled sharply. A small thrill raced up my spine at the thought of Brock reacting to my touch.
“Let’s get you home, Brock.”
He leaned down to kiss me, but I pulled back. There was no way I was going to kiss this man when he was drunk. No. If he truly wanted to kiss me, he’d do it sober, when he wasn’t acting like a complete jerk.