Badd Motherf*cker(14)

I sat down in the mud, tried to wipe it off my face with my hands, but my hands were covered in mud, and—

I’d promised myself the breakdown I’d had in the truck back in Seattle was the only one I’d allow myself, but apparently I’d lied to myself.

Because I was crying again.

Hard.

But now I was alone in the mud, sitting in the rain, with no Dad to comfort me.

Why had I run away?

What had I been thinking?

No job—I’d quit my job at the law firm I clerked at since they wouldn’t give me enough time off for my honeymoon, and I’d had plenty of other offers in my field. I’d been confident I’d be able to find a new job when I got back, and had even sent out my resume to a few likely places. Except now I was in Ketchikan, Alaska with four maxed-out credit cards, limited savings, no job, no car, no family except Dad, no return flight available till who knew when, even if I could afford it and, oh yeah, my fiancé had been fucking my bridesmaid minutes before I was supposed to walk down the aisle to him.

I gave in and let myself sob.

And then I heard his footsteps in the mud, glanced over to see his massive boots squishing though the mud, faded jeans dappled by the rain, and then he was kneeling beside me, hair dampening with every passing second, but he seemed not to care. He reached out a big paw, wiped the mud off of my face and wiped it on his jeans. He wasn’t smiling, but there was something awfully like compassion on his face, which only made me even more unreasonably angry.

“Leave me alone,” I said. “I don’t need your help.”

“Too bad,” he said, sliding his arms around me and lifting me effortlessly, “because you’re getting it, like it or not, want it or not.”

“Put me down, you orc.”

He was too close, and I was full-on drunk again, and I hated him because he was fucking gorgeous and he could cook and he poured scotch with a heavy hand and he was gorgeous—did I already say that?—and he had tattoos and I’d always had a secret thing for tattoos, and he could pick me up easily, even though I’m not really dainty. I’m not, like, big, but I’m not small either.

He carried me easily across the muddy street, through a doorway, and up a set of stairs.

He kicked open a door, flicked on a light somehow, and then set me on my feet. We were in a bedroom, but that was all I could manage to make out through the onset of double vision.

“Can you manage from here?”

I nodded sloppily. “Sure, sure. No problem. Just gonna go to sleep.”

He caught me before I fell over. “Angel, you’re soaked, covered in mud, and wasted. You can’t just go to sleep.”

“Sure I can.”

I wobbled, because with every passing second, the food, the scotch, the beer, and the exhaustion and the heartache were all catching up to me, and pulling me under. I couldn’t stop it and I didn’t care about anything but being warm and dry and horizontal, which were the direct opposites of everything I was at that moment.

“Goddamn it,” I heard him murmur under his breath, and then I felt him guide me with his big hard warm hands on my waist toward the multiple darkened doorways spinning in kaleidoscope circles that I assumed was the bathroom.

The lights went on, and I heard a shower start. I was sleepy. So sleepy, and so drunk. And so heartbroken. It hurt, goddamn it…it hurt.

Then he was in front of me. “Hey, stay with me, angel.”

“My name is Dru, handsome orc-man. Dru. D-R-U. Dru.”

“Okay, got it. Dru.” His face wove and spun in front of me. “You desperately need to shower. You’re gonna catch a cold. But you’re also completely shitfaced.”

“Yes. Yes I am. I am very, very shitfaced. Thank you for that, by the way.”

“No problem. Glad I could help.” He held me by the shoulders to keep me upright. “But I need you to pay attention to me, okay?”

I nodded, sort of. “’Kay. What’s up, buttercup?”

“I’m going to help you get undressed, and I’m going to help you shower, because there’s nobody else.”

“The fuck you are.” I managed to work up a good glare. “You just want to get your sexy paws on me.”

I caught his grin before my ability to focus on him went to shit. “Absolutely I do. When you’re sober, and in your right frame of mind. Right now, I’m exercising my gentleman manners, which are pretty fuckin’ rusty, I must admit. I won’t be copping any feels, but I will be taking a few good looks as payment, all right?”

I tried to stare at him, to get his measure, but shit, I was absolutely plastered and couldn’t even manage to make out one of him, let alone decide whether or not I was going to wake up with a sore pussy from being taken advantage of while drunk. Somehow, though, I didn’t get that feeling from him. I was being stupid, and I knew it, but I was drunk enough not to care. If I was going to get taken advantage of while hammered, at least he was hot. Hopefully I’d remember some of it, and hopefully it’d be good.