“Whatever. Just make it good, okay?”
He moved around behind me without letting go of me and fumbled with the hidden zipper of my dress. “Make what good?”
“When you take advantage of my drunk ass.”
He had my zipper open to mid-back, paused, and spun me around. Roughly, harshly, and good thing he had a strong grip on me because I would’ve gone down otherwise, and I don’t mean on him, I mean to the floor—Dru go boom.
He was angry. “Listen, Dru. I know I’m just a tatted-up bartender from the ass-end of nowhere, and I get I’m kinda rough lookin’. But I have never and will never take advantage of a drunk chick. Got it? You got nothin’ to fear from me. Your virtue is safe as houses, all right?”
I cackled. “Virtue? That’s rich. I lost my virtue to Jimmy Irvin in the back of his pickup after freshman prom.” I saw, even through my drunken and spinning haze, that he wasn’t amused. “Sorry. You said your name is Sebastian, right?”
He turned me back around—gently this time—and finished undoing my zipper. “Yeah, my name is Sebastian.”
Now that I was unzipped all the way, I felt free, finally. “Jesus, that thing was tight.” I experimented, taking deep lungfuls of oxygen, reveling in the freedom to fully expand my lungs for the first time in god knows how many hours. “Look, I’m sorry I offended you. But put yourself in my position for a second. You know you’re a good dude who won’t take advantage of sloppy drunk heartbroken should-have-been brides, but I don’t know that.”
He was watching me in the mirror, I could tell, and his eyes were glued to my tits with every breath I took. I wasn’t wearing a bra. I was wearing panties, but they weren’t much more than scraps of lace that could barely be called a thong.
My heart was pounding in my chest, and other parts of me were sitting up and taking notice of the fact that I was in a bathroom, my dress unzipped, tits one big breath from spilling free, and the man standing behind me was the drop-dead sexiest man I’d ever seen. And he was, even to my boozy, fatigued observational skills, attracted to me.
But I couldn’t stand up straight without his help, couldn’t even see straight. If he let go of me, I’d topple sideways, probably whack my head on the counter and would need stitches, and god only knew what kind of medical facilities they had in this town I was in, which, I suddenly remembered, I knew absolutely nothing about. I didn’t even know, geographically, where in Alaska I was.
Sebastian’s hands touched my shoulders. “Dru? You gonna puke?”
I shook my head. “No, no. Just…it’s been a really long day and it’s all sort of catching up to me.”
“Gonna cry again? ’Cause I’m not sure how to handle that shit.”
“No. I just…I need a shower.” I met his eyes in the mirror, or tried to. All I managed was to look sort of in his general direction or, at least, in the direction of the two or three of him that were rotating in front of me.
“You got it?”
I pushed myself upright, kept one hand on the counter, and tried to wiggle out of the dress. But considering it had taken all three of my bridesmaids almost an hour to get me into it, my chances of getting out of it alone while wasted were…well…not great.
“Shit,” I mumbled. “You’re gonna have to help me. But if you touch my tits, I’ll punch you. And Sebastian?” I glared in his direction best I could. “Trust me when I say you don’t want me to punch you. I’m Irish, and I’m the daughter of a Marine Corps drill instructor. I can lay you out, okay?”
He seemed impressed, or at least, that’s what my admittedly compromised ability to read facial expressions informed me. “I’ll be on my best behavior, I swear.”
This was a fucked up situation.
But I’d gotten myself into this mess, and Dad had taught me to always accept responsibility for my actions, and to just take what came best I could and deal with shit without flinching.
Do what you gotta do, and deal with the emotions of it later, Dad always said.
Do what I gotta do.
I put both hands on the counter, steadied myself, and looked at him in the mirror. “Help me out of this stupid dress, Sebastian.”
4
Sebastian
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
This was bad. I mean, it was goddamned amazing, but…it was bad. This girl was barely holding it together. I wasn’t about to ask what had happened, but it hadn’t been good. The way she’d just…broken down…out in the street—it put a fire in my belly, man. Pissed me the fuck off. Who could do something to a girl like that bad enough to make her break that way? She struck me as strong, tough, a take-no-shit sort of girl. She didn’t break easy. But out there in the mud? She just shattered. Alone. Broken-hearted. And I guess I was a sucker, because I couldn’t leave her out there. It was obvious she was in no condition to be left alone, and I’d fed her the scotch, which meant she was my problem now.