Page 67 of The Trouble with Runaway Brides

“And I took the liberty of texting your mom. I knew she’d freak out, so…”

I swallow past the Sahara-like conditions in my throat. “Did you tell her where I was?”

My mom is going to kill me.

He chuckles. “I did. I just told her that I didn’t want to wake her up, so I brought you here. That you slept in the guest room, but really—”

I hold up my hand, not ready to hear the details yet. Once he voices what we did, I’m officially a cheater. I cheated on my fiancé. I’m the type of person I despise. “Don’t say it yet. I have to prepare myself.”

He pours two cups of coffee. While he does, I can’t help but stare at his chest, his pecs, wondering if my hands slid down that chest last night.

“Kenzie,” he says seriously.

I nod. “Okay, go.”

“I gave you my bed because there’s a washroom attached, and I slept in the guest room.”

“Does that mean…”

“We didn’t sleep together. We didn’t do anything… physical.”

Relief washes through my body.

“I did have to help undress you to get the dress off after you threw up though,” he says. “I cleaned you up a little and put you in bed. I stayed in the chair to watch you for a while, just in case you got sick again, then I went to the guest room early this morning.”

I blow out a breath. “Oh, thank God.”

He quirks an eyebrow.

“I mean, not that sleeping with you would be bad. I’m sure it’d be good. Really good, but it’s bad because I’m engaged—”

He raises his hand and nods to stop me. Sliding the cup of coffee over to me, he goes to his fridge and brings out the milk. “I don’t have any creamer.”

I wave him off. “It’s okay. I usually take it black now unless I stop at a coffee shop.”

He leans into the corner of his countertop, bringing his coffee to his lips and blowing on it.

I’m relieved I didn’t cheat on Will, but there’s a lot I don’t remember either. “Can you tell me what happened last night?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Leaving the bar. Brinley sneaking a bottle out under her shirt. Going to the lake. After that…” I shake my head.

He sips his coffee. “So, you don’t remember begging me to bring you home, and you couldn’t keep your hands off of me and tried to convince me to sleep with you? How you confessed your undying love?”

My eyes widen. “Really?”

“No.” He chuckles.

“Jesus, Lance.”

“You did ask to come to my house though, which I figured was the better decision, so we didn’t wake up your parents. We got in the house, and you searched for more alcohol—which I hid from you—then you rummaged through my cabinets for food. You ended up lying on my couch wanting to watch a movie, but before we agreed on one, you ran to my bathroom. Didn’t quite make it though.”

I cringe.

He smirks and nods.

“I’m so sorry.” My face heats and I let my chin dip to my chest.

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