“I see the troll finally stopped blocking the bridge,” Jake jokes, perhaps a little too loudly. On purpose. “I think we just might need to drink to that.”
“We sure do.” I wink at him. In my peripheral vision, I see Wes whip his head toward me, but I don’t acknowledge him at all. Jake takes my drink order, and I watch him carefully as he mixes my drink—a cola with a little whipped cream vodka. Well, he pours a lot of whipped cream vodka, but I’m not complaining.
I follow him to a remotely quiet corner of the living room, and we talk for a while. I talk to him about college and my family, and he talks about himself and . . . himself. He sure is nice to look at, but I can only listen to how much he can bench for so long. He must be one of the dullest people on the planet. Wes made it out like he’s a womanizer; however, I think the bigger threat is that he just might bore someone to a very painful death. But as long as he keeps the drinks coming, he gets a little easier to listen to. A little.
Even half-drunk, I still think I’d rather talk to a tree.
“Why don’t we go outside and get some air? It’s getting awfully loud and stuffy in here.”
“Sure,” I say, swaying a little after standing too quickly.
Jake hugs me against his side and chuckles. “Hang on, gorgeous. I won’t let you fall.”
Once we make it to the back door, I let go of him, determined to walk on my own. If the damn ground would just be still long enough for me to step on it, I’d be just fine. I finally make my way to a soft spot in the grass and sit down. Okay, no, I didn’t exactly choose to sit here. The ground chose that spot for me on its own, and my stupid body went down without even asking my permission first.
Damn, I’ve had too much to drink. And tomorrow is going to hurt. Bad.
“You okay?” Jake laughs at my less than graceful landing. “Told you to hang on.”
I lie down in the cool grass and stretch out. “I’m all good now. It’s so quiet out here.” A gentle hand caresses my stomach, and I look down at Jake’s fingertips circling my belly button. “That feels kinda nice.”
“Yeah? How about this?” His hot mouth finds my neck, and the gentle sucking under my earlobe gives me chills.
“Mmm.”
“And this?” His face appears in front of mine, and the soft whisper of his lips trail along my cheek until they find my mouth, delivering a toe-curling kiss.
At least, I think it is. Once I have a second to process it, all I can really register is the nauseating taste of beer coming from his mouth. It’s truly vile and disgusting. I hate both the taste and smell of it. I shove at him, trying to push him away, but he only kisses me more deeply, no matter how much I bang on his chest with my fists. Then, when I grab onto his shirt, he somehow takes it as an invitation for more.
The sobering moment for me, though, is when his hand shoves into the front of my pants. Without even thinking about it, I shove him back with everything I have and rear back and pop him right in the eye with my tiny, but effective fist.
He flinches and falls over on his back, covering his eye with one hand. “What the hell?!”
“If you’re smart, you’ll leave before Shane or Wes comes looking for you.” I start to walk away, but I can’t help but feeling a little vindictive. I step over one leg and bend to face him, trying to maintain my balance while my equilibrium plays on a merry-go-round. “Listen to me very carefully . . .”
“Get lost, bitch,” he spits out, still sprawled out on the ground, holding his eye. But his focus quickly changes when I gently nudge him in the balls with my foot. Okay, I straight up kicked him with the toe of my shoe, and he’s damn lucky it wasn’t with my heel. He’s coughing, groaning, and gagging, and you can call me sadistic if you want, but I can’t help but feel a little satisfaction in that.
“As I was saying, you might want to think twice about forcing yourself on a woman again. Drunk or not, you never know when she might kick your ass.”
I walk—or stumble—back inside, kick my heels off at the door, and head to the stairs. I’m pretty sure this party is over for me. I barely manage to get over the doggie gate without falling on my face, but I climb up the stairs fairly uneventfully. Since I’ve failed to be a good watchdog, I peek under the bed in the master bedroom to make sure our bowl of keys hasn’t been discovered, and while I’m already in the floor, I decide to crawl the rest of the way to my room.
I slide my hands and knees across the plush carpet of the dim hallway, freezing when I hear a door open. I flounder for an explanation of why I’m on the floor, and I watch a pair of familiar shoes leave Wes’ room.