“Good. Stay the bloody hell away and get some sleep already.”
“Aww, love you, too,” she quips, rolling her eyes again. Jesus, that girl better hook up with a man that can handle the likes of her. The door shuts with a bang, and Fran jumps up, startled, and blinks at me.
“Go to sleep.”
She rolls over and snores loud enough to rouse a deaf man, probably the first bloody time she’s ever done what she’s told without backtalk. Not that she really meant to even this time.
I sigh and try to get comfortable on the tiny excuse for a sofa across from where she lies. It’ll be a long bloody night.
CHAPTER TWO
Fran
I wakeup a few times in the middle of the night, dimly aware that I’m sleeping in some sort of chair, in a rather comfortable room. It’s an odd feeling, being utterly exhausted and incapable of keeping my eyes open, while still subconsciously being aware of my weird surroundings. It's like waking up in the middle of the night when you're sleeping naked. Every time you wake up, you think "I. Am. Naked."
I look down, startled, still clearly loopy from meds, because I’m suddenly afraid I am sleeping naked, and I don’t even know where I am. Oh, thank fuck. Still wearing… something. Lord knows what it is at this point. I settle back down, so sleepy I could doze right back off again, and likely will.
I’m hot, though; my hair’s all sweaty and I’m panting under these blankets. I yank off the top I’m wearing so now I’m in the camisole underneath. Phew, that’s better.
Someone left a fire in the hearth, but the fire’s died down, leaving only flickering light on the embers. It was the pile of blankets that made me so hot.
I try to piece things together as I lie there, still half-stoned. I kick the blankets off and toe off my socks. I’m wearing leggings and a cami, and wish those could come off, too, but I don’t know if I have any privacy here and that’s all I need is someone to come in and see me naked.
I went sledding down the hill like a goddamn polar bear on its belly, straight into the damn tree, unyielding bit of nature that it is.
Why did I let the girls talk me into that? I should know better. But I've been letting them talk me into doing stupid, half-cocked things since I was ten. Hell, I've talked myself and them into quite a few stupid things myself. Sounded fun at the time. It's kind of our theme.
Sigh. Those words will go on my tombstone.
I close my eyes and try to keep tabs on what’s going on.
First, where am I? I have only the vaguest recollection of getting here and what happened after that.
I know I hurt myself by crashing into a tree. Not my best hour.
Then I… oh. Oh.
I blink in surprise when everything comes rushing back at once.
Tate carried me.
I hurt my head.
I can’t go to work tomorrow.
Tate.
I close my eyes and stifle a groan. Did I do anything stupid? I was nearly delirious with pain, but even delirious me remembers that. How could I forget? It’d be a dream for a girl like me, if only it hadn’t been tainted with so much pain and mortification.
Big, stern, burly Tate, all muscles and dark, brooding sexiness.
How many drugs did they give me?
I am literally asleep on some sort of couch thing in the Cowen family… living room or something… thinking about Tate’s stern hotness. I try to mentally circle back to the other complications I'm currently facing, but all I can think about is…
Tate carried me back. I vaguely remember asking him if I was too heavy, and that look of disdain he got that went right to my belly. I remember him telling his sister a variety of things… But I don't remember the details. I took a few pills… Got a little loopy… I'm still a little loopy…
I gasp. Oh my God. I was… was I mocking him? Waving my finger and pretending to talk in a deep voice in that deep brogue of his? Oh my God.
