Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25127 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 126(@200wpm)___ 101(@250wpm)___ 84(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25127 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 126(@200wpm)___ 101(@250wpm)___ 84(@300wpm)
Even so, I have no doubt I’ll jerk off to that vision in the shower, then toss and turn, the scent of strawberries forever embedded in my brain.
CHAPTER TWO
Gabby
I wake up to the sun streaming through a window and searing into my eyes. I immediately close them tight. And as last night comes back to me in a technicolor movie-like reel, I groan. I might have been drunk last night, and I’m definitely hungover this morning, but I remember every detail.
I was mauled by Preston at my parents’ party, rushed from the house, and ended up at The Back Door where a nice bartender named Cal served me drinks, and then he showed up. The man who brought me to his house because I refused to give him my parents’ address. After consoling myself with the fact that at least I didn’t throw up in his car, I force my eyelids open and blink into the sun.
I take stock. The headache is to be expected. No nausea, thank God. And I’m still in my dress from last night while my shoes are on the floor by the bed. The hot bartender, Maddox, I remember, didn’t take advantage of me. He brought me home and took care of me, making him a decent guy.
There’s an old-fashioned shade on the window which hasn’t been rolled down, explaining my bright wakeup call. I look around and see bare walls with holes where picture hooks once were, faded rectangles where pictures once hung.
On the nightstand, I’m surprised to find a tall glass of water and two Ibuprofen. I’m touched by the thoughtful gesture from a stranger whose hospitality I’m already taking advantage of, and very grateful. I sit up, immediately swallowing the pills and downing the entire glass of water. With a little luck, between this and some food, I’ll get rid of the pounding headache. Once I have a clear head, I can figure out what to do next.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and look around, noticing my purse on the wooden dresser across from me. My phone is inside it, and I’m not ready to see the dozens of messages my mother probably left. Still, I’m not a procrastinator and decide it’s better to know what awaits me. I retrieve my cell and turn it on, wincing at the text messages, missed calls, and voicemails.
A quick scroll through reveals my mother is furious that I embarrassed the family by leaving, my grandmother urges me to check in, and Preston informs me I’ve had my fun and it’s time to come home and face up to my responsibilities. Asshole.
I leave my phone on the dresser with my purse and walk into the hall, finding a bathroom across from the room where I slept. Once I’m inside and lock the door, I see he left me a toothbrush, toothpaste, and towels on the counter, along with what looks like one of his t-shirts.
I blow out a long breath, wondering how I got so lucky to find a good guy in my drunken state. The bathroom is basic. The toilet is a standard, and the sink white porcelain with a small two-door wood vanity. I turn on the shower water, adjust the temperature, undress and step under the warm spray. There’s soap along with generic bottles of shampoo and conditioner, and I gratefully use them all. A little while later, I step out of the bathroom feeling clean and refreshed and wearing a soft tee-shirt that falls to my knees, and yesterday’s underwear I turned inside out. I stop in my room to take a hair tie out of my bag and pull my long hair into a messy bun on top of my head.
I glance in the mirror. My cheeks are pink from drinking and my eyes a little glassy, but without access to makeup, there isn’t much more I can do. Last night, I made a fool of myself, and I have to face the bartender and see whether he’s as good-looking as I remember. Or if I was viewing him through a drunken lens.
The house doesn’t appear to be big, and it’s definitely under renovation. As I make my way to the kitchen, I notice the walls in the large family room have been primed but only one is painted, and there’s furniture, a mahogany-colored leather sofa and matching club chair and a large steamer-trunk as a cocktail table. No knickknacks, nothing giving the place a homey feel. I walk toward what I assume is the kitchen, glancing out the sliding glass doors as I pass. The patio is also being worked on, the dirt outside having been dug up and most of the old bluestone removed except for a few square stones providing a walking path to the sandy area behind it.