“You’re not exactly winning a modesty contest either,” he retorts.
I gasp when I notice the hem of my T-shirt has ridden up my thighs and tug it down the best I can.
“I’m assuming you helped me out of my skirt,” I say, one hand pinned over the fabric to keep it in place.
“I did,” he replies evenly. “Figured you’d be more comfortable and get a better night’s sleep if you weren’t in dirty clothes. Don’t worry, I was on my best behavior,” he adds with a smirk.
I swallow hard, my fingers curling tighter around the bottom of my T-shirt. A normal reaction would be embarrassment or even frustration toward Walker. Instead, disappointment washes over me. I can’t believe I was drunk the first time a man undressed me.
My eye twitches at my unhinged reaction, eager to steer the conversation elsewhere. “Why did you stay over anyway? You could have easily dropped me off and asked Briar or Charlie to check on me this morning.”
“I didn’t want you to be alone in case you got sick again.” He leans forward to brush a loose piece of hair from my face, causing goose bumps to rise along my arms. “Plus, someone had to make sure you survived the hangover you’re pretending doesn’t exist.”
My stomach does a little flip knowing he gave up his own bed for my floor so he could keep an eye on me. He must be responsible for the pain meds and water too.
“That was very thoughtful. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he murmurs, meeting my gaze. “Why don’t you get dressed and meet me downstairs. We need to get some food in you.”
“Um, okay?” It comes out like a question.
Part of me is waiting to wake up and discover this was all a dream and that Walker isn’t actually standing in my room, shirtless.
He takes my hand in his. “You’re not dreaming, Birdie.”
Did I say that out loud? That’s just great. He has to leave before my brain fries out entirely.
“I’m not going anywhere until you’ve had a proper breakfast,” he adds firmly.
“Crap, I did it again,” I mumble.
Considering I’m talking to myself while sober, it’s a miracle I didn’t do more to embarrass myself at the bar.
Walker chuckles. “I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re ready. See you in a few minutes, beautiful.” He gives my hand a squeeze before letting go, and I’m left staring after him as he leaves the room.
I catch my reflection in the mirror by the door. My hair’s a tangled mess, there are mascara streaks under my eyes, and my pounding headache is a stark reminder that hangovers and I don’t mix well.
There’s no way Walker meant to call me beautiful after seeing me like this, right? That doesn’t stop my heart from nearly beating out of my chest as my hand drifts to my cheek, still warm from his touch. Before I can read more into it, my phone buzzes on the nightstand.
Backroads & Bad Decisions Group Chat
Charlie: Birdie Mae Matterson, answer this text or I’m calling thesheriff’s office, and we both know Mason would love any excuse to drag you back to that jail cell.
The last thing I need is for them to report me missing. That wouldn’t go over well when they discover Walker spent the night—even though nothing happened between us.
Birdie: I’m okay, but I can’t talk right now.
Wren: Oh thank god you’re alive.
Briar: Where have you been?
Charlie: You’re with Walker, aren’t you??
Charlie: Girl, you better not leave us hanging.
I put my phone face down on the nightstand, choosing not to answer. They’ll have to wait a little longer until I figure out the best way to respond. Right now, I’m going to get dressed and head downstairs to have breakfast with Walker, no matter how awkward it might be.
When I leave my room, a rich, buttery scent drifts from the kitchen. My idea of a home-cooked meal is limited to cereal ortoast, so whatever Walker is making is already leagues beyond anything I’d attempt.
