“Stop,” I slur, bracing myself against my truck.
Her hands freeze on my waist as she rises to standing again. “What?”
“I—I can’t do this.”
Anger paints her features, her lips pursed with annoyance. “Seriously? You were all about it earlier.”
I remove her hands from my body and pull my jeans and boxer briefs back up, lifting the zipper and buttoning them closed. “And I changed my mind.”
“Ha. That’s rich. A man changing his mind about getting laid.” She crosses her arms over her chest.
“Why does it matter if I’m a man? No means no.”
Rolling her eyes, she spins on her feet and walks back toward the bar. “Whatever.”
For a moment, I wonder if there’s two of her and I’ve been oblivious to it the entire night, but that’s when I realize that I’m drunk, far too drunk to drive and not stupid enough to try.
Warren is still inside talking to the redhead as far as I know, and the last thing I want to do is cockblock him after just doing it to myself. But I don’t want to be here anymore. I need to lie down and get the world to stop spinning.
I want to go home to my girls.
As soon as I close my eyes, all I see and hear is Elodie—her smile, those eyes, her voice. All my body and mind want is her.
And I think my heart is making his decision known at this moment as well.
“Fuck,” I grumble while attempting to pull my phone from my pocket and hit the number for someone I know won’t judge me for the state I’m in.
“Henley?” Fletcher’s groggy voice comes through the line.
“Hey, man.”
“Everything okay?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I mean, I’m fine, but I’mnot okay.”
“All right…” he trails off.
“I was wondering if you and Laney could come pick me up. I—I’ve been drinking and I can’t drive my truck.”
The sound of movement filters through the phone. “Where are you? We’ll be right there.”
“Riley’s Office. It’s a bar in Asheville.”
“Got it. Be there soon.”
“Thanks, man.”
“No. Thank you, Henley. Thank you for calling and not driving.”
I decide to wait in my truck for them to arrive, locking myself inside. As I doze off, I hear Elodie’s voice singing, which only helps me drift off to sleep faster.
***
Bright light pierces through the window, dragging me out of my slumber. My back aches as I slowly lift my eyelids and realize I’m not asleep in my bed, but rather on a couch—Fletcher and Laney’s couch.
“Jesus Christ,” I mumble.
“Aw, he’s alive.” Laney’s soft voice pulls my gaze to her, standing over me with a cup of coffee in her hands and an amused smile on her lips.
