“I thought maybe after yesterday you could use a drink. Now I see I was right. We can either hit the Oasis, or I have a few bottles of wine chilling at my place.”
As a dispatcher, she knew what had happened.
The thought of going to the Oasis made me think of Luke again. Bad idea.
“Let’s go to your place.”
“Sounds good. Then if we drink too much, I can stumble to bed and you can crawl on the couch.” She chuckled, and I grabbed my shit and followed her outside.
“I’m going to stop by my house to grab a change of clothes. You know, just in case,” I said with a raise of my brow, though I had no intention of getting blitzed on wine.
“Babe, don’t worry about it. You can fit in my clothes.”
“Okay, but I draw the line at wearing your panties. I’m washing mine.” I wrinkled my nose, and she laughed.
“Whatever trips your trigger. Let’s go. Wine awaits.”
I followed her to her place and parked on the street. She had a single lane driveway and a small garage full of the things she’d gotten when her mom passed away. Her place was little but tidy.
She was unlocking her side door as I climbed out of my car. Shouldering my bag, I traipsed up to follow her inside. When she flipped on the lights, I dropped my stuff on her counter.
“Let me grab you some comfy clothes,” she said and disappeared into her room. She returned to toss me some unicorn leggings and an oversized T-shirt that said, ‘I got lucky at the Shamrock’. There was the silhouette of a pole dancer. I shook my head with a huffed laugh.
“Where the hell did you get this?” I asked as I held up the shirt.
A secretive smirk was followed by “Go change and I’ll tell you.”
“Uh-huh. Is it clean, and was it Phillip’s?” Phillip was her ex-boyfriend who had cheated on her with one of the strippers from that place named Cherry. She was a skanky bitch.
She laughed as she comically waggled her brows. “Definitely not Phillip’s.”
Wanting to know the story, I hurried to the bathroom to change, and she went in her room still laughing. Once we were both sitting in her living room, candles burning and wineglasses filled, I demanded, “Okay, spill.”
With a half-shrug followed by a dreamy look, she said, “I had a one-night stand with a bad boy.”
“Good for you,” I said, raising my glass in salute. “So how was it?”
“Amazing and all damn night. Unfortunately, not long-term material. Now that I’ve told you my secret… what’s the deal with you and Snow?”
“Snow?” I asked as if I was confused.
“Girl, do not play dumb with me. Luke Matthews. President of the Demented Sons and all-around Hottie McSizzle.” Her lips curled in self-satisfaction as she took a sip of the deep red wine.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” I offered before I gulped my entire glass and poured another. When I looked up, she was leaning forward, elbows on her knees and glass dangling by the brim from her fingertips.
Dammit, I had hoped to tell Justine before she found out from gossip.
“Hailey. This is small-town Iowa. There are no secrets in a place like this.” Her deadpan expression accompanied her long, measured stare and another sip of wine.
My breath came in short spurts, and sweat broke out over my lip. No one was supposed to know. Then again, when I left his house that morning, I was observed by Luke’s nosey neighbor outside with her dogs. At five in the morning. Who was up that early? Other than nosey neighbors, I guess.
“Who told you?”
“Edith Bowman,” she said with pursed lips.
“Oh my God! She just saw me this morning!” Edith was Luke’s neighbor. She was also Alba’s mother. I hadn’t known that before today when she’d “popped in” to see if Alba wanted to go to lunch. The woman had to be eighty-five if she was a day, but as spry and sharp as someone half her age. And obviously more than nosey; she was a gossip.
“Well, after her lunch with her daughter, she stopped by the station to make a noise complaint. Seems her neighbor rides a loud motorcycle and often gets home late at night.” Justine smirked. I sighed and rolled my eyes.
“Jesus deliver me from old busybodies and relentless friends,” I muttered before I guzzled my glass dry again. The last of the bottle filled it up.
“So are you seeing him then?” she prodded.
“No. It’s just, um, well…. We both lead busy lives, and neither of us has time or energy for a relationship.”
“But you have the energy for hot wild monkey sex?”
“Oh for the love of God, Justine.”
“Is he good? Please tell me he’s good. No. Scratch that. Tell me he’s a fucking machine. Tell me you have countless orgasms at the mercy of his massive dick! Is he hung?” At her words, my face heated.
“I—”
“He is! Holy shit! You better give me the deets. Right. Effing. Now! My bad boy was several months ago. I need to live vicariously through you!” she whined and held her hands as if in prayer—with a wineglass in them.
“I’m not discussing my sex life!” If I thought my cheeks couldn’t burn hotter, I was so wrong. I was pretty sure there were flames licking at them.
“Then at least tell me—more than one orgasm a night?”
I pulled my lips between my teeth and nodded. She squealed excitedly.
“Every night?” Her eyes twinkled, and glee curled her lips.
“Most,” I admitted.
“Well, hot damn, that’s what I’m talking about!”
I was surprised she was insanely ecstatic for me. “Really?”
“Girl, fuck the gossip and bang Luke “Snow” Matthews as long and as hard as you can.” I about choked on my tongue when she said that.
Instead, I finished the wine and opened the second bottle.
I’d been kicking myself all day for my poor decisions the night before. My pounding head wouldn’t quit, I’d puked
