Page 83 of A Lucky Shot

She swallowed. “Why are you in my apartment?”

“I brought you home.”

“Um, thank you.”

“You were very drunk,” he said, smiling. “And very cute.”

“Oh, no.”

“You told me I smelled really good.”

“Ah …”

“Then you told me to stay out of your room until you hid your vibrator.”

“Oh my god.”

His teeth looked lethal behind his lips pulled wide. If she was sober, she would have had a hard time deciding if she wanted to kiss or smack those dimples right off his face. “Josh, we didn’t, did we?”

Josh pressed a hand to his chest. “You don’t remember?”

If the floor didn’t open up, she was ripping up the carpet and burrowing under it until spring. “Josh …”

“We did not.”

Thank god. “I, um … I didn’t get handsy, did I?” Cass blessed the darkness that hid her flaming cheeks. It didn’t matter. Josh knew her well enough that he’d know she was blushing, anyway. “I can get a little touchy when I’m drunk, and I’m really sorry if I did?—”

“Charms,” he cut in, “you didn’t do anything that made me uncomfortable.”

She nodded carefully, her hangover grinding like gravel between her ears. At least she’d held onto one last shred of dignity last night. Until she spammed Josh in a pathetic texts.

And he still came to her.

She squinted at him through the gloom. His thick hair was purposefully mussed, as usual, and his tee shirt snugged across his biceps, a different shirt than she’d seen him wearing on set that day. Yesterday? Cass took another sip of water. “What time is it?” she rasped out.

“Late. You’ve been passed out for a few hours. I was just sticking around to make sure you didn’t choke on your own vomit or anything.”

A wave of mortification washed over her. On the rare times she had too much to drink, she always said something she regretted later. Any lingering attraction he might have had likely evaporated with whatever foolish things she’d said last night. Not like that was a factor.

He’d picked her up, made sure she got home safely, and made sure she stayed that way. He was just being nice.

And tomorrow was a huge day. No, today would be huge. For which they both needed sleep.

She wiped at the smudge of mascara that likely sat under her eyes. She hadn’t even washed her face last night. She was still wearing her … no, she wasn’t. The sweater she’d worn yesterday—the ones she’d chosen for the way its emerald tones brought out the green flecks in her hazel eyes—hung over the back of her slipper chair. Her pants haphazardly kicked to the corner of her room. Now all she had on was a cheeky pair of sleep shorts, no bra, and a strappy tank top that displayed the clear outline of her nipples.

“Can you do me a favour?” she asked, pulling her covers up over her chest. “When I ask how I got changed last night, would you please tell me I did it all by myself?”

Her bed rustled with his repressed laughter. “For the most part. Although you did ask me to help.”

“Oh.”

“You were quite adamant,” he said, his teeth gleaming in the dark. “You very nearly persuaded me.”

If her hangover didn’t kill her, embarrassment would.

“I declined, although I’ve never been so interested in a team project before.”

Thank god he was making a joke of it. Yes, he’d seen her naked before. No, that didn’t mean he wanted to see her naked again. It didn’t matter what Libby thought. Josh had made it perfectly clear that he wasn’t interested. No distractions with her, or anyone else, as far as she could tell. Cass couldn’t blame him. She tried to remember if he’d been seen with or talked about anyone since coming to Calgary, but her mind buzzed too hard for coherent thought to form. Plus, thinking about him with other people turned her stomach in a completely different way than the hangover she would deal with tomorrow.

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