Page 11 of Lucifer's Hounds

“I know my movies.” He directs me to his bike and opens the compartment on the side.

“What’s that thing called?”

“It’s a saddlebag.” He grabs the helmet I used last night and helps me buckle it beneath my chin. Straddling the bike, he cranks it and taps the seat behind him. “Hop on.”

I hold onto his shoulders as I struggle to get on the back. I had undeniably a few too many drinks. I slip my hands into the front pockets of his cut and hold on tight. I’m drunk. I do not want to fall off the back of this bike. That is a level of embarrassment even I couldn’t live through.

"Hold on, drunkie," he teases.

"Hey, hey. None of that,” I slur. I can hear myself slurring and it’s fucking annoying. I focus hard on not slurring but it doesn’t work. My words may as well be in cursive.

We take off toward our hotel, with me grinning into Cass’s back in my mixed state of drunkenness and complete and utter happiness. I pay careful attention to the way riding feels while I’m intoxicated. It’s nice without worrying about anything in the world. This whole wind therapy thing that everyone talks about really works. The night air is warm, but on the bike it’s comfortable and slightly cooler. I feel the air change in one spot and make a mental note to ask Cass about it later.

Cass pulls into the hotel and kills the bike. I sit here with my chin resting on his shoulder, not moving. I’m comfortable and also slightly scared that once I move, I may face plant onto to the concrete.

"Sweetie, you have to get off before I do," he says after we sit for a minute. Or five. I’m not entirely sure. I hop off and when my feet are planted on the ground, I get a little wobbly. Cass grabs my arm to steady me, laughing at my clumsiness.

"Somebody's got a buzz."

"Maybe just a little,” I reply, trying to unclasp my helmet. Why can’t I just unclasp this damn thing? I fidget with it until Cass reaches over and places a hand on mine.

“Here.” He moves my hand out of the way and undoes it for me. When he bends down to place it back into the saddlebag, I rest a hand on his shoulder.

After he’s taken off his own helmet, he grabs my hand and walks me to the door. Or, guides me, more so.

Unlocking the main door on the side of the building, he leads me to the elevator again. I stumble in and everything starts spinning, making me realize the stupor I drank myself into. Oh no. No. No. No. Shit. I'm way too drunk.

I wake the next morning to find Cass sleeping next to me. I’m wearing an oversized tee and my underwear. My head pounds and all I want is a gallon of ice-cold water. And pickles. I groan as I roll out of bed. Standing up, everything is still spinning but I’m glad to see Cass is still here.

I have no memory of the night before we arrived at the hotel. Walking to the bathroom, I start the shower and brush my teeth. My stomach is empty and there’s a tingling in my fingers and toes. The hot water is soothing as it pours over me. I lean against the wall of the shower in an attempt to stop the spinning and let the water run for at least ten minutes longer. I don’t feel any less hungover, but at least I’m clean and that’s a start.

After my shower, I tiptoe into the room in only a towel. I shiver as the cool air hits my wet skin and try to keep my teeth from chattering. Cass is still asleep and snoring. I stand there for a moment taking in the sight of him sleeping peacefully.Something is different though. His face appears much softer than it did the past two days. I haven’t noticed it until now, but it looks as if a mask had been lifted from his face and for the first time, I’m seeing the man underneath.

I dress quickly and sit down on the bed next to Cass, rubbing his arm gently.

“Hey,” I whisper, trying to wake him up softly. He stirs under my hand and his eyes flicker open.

“Hi,” he says, his voice thick with sleep. I smile down at him.

“How are you feeling this morning?”

“Like I got hit by a train,” I say, feeling the heat rush to my cheeks.

Cass’s half-asleep laugh warms my heart.

“You are a sight when you're drunk, Miss Summers. I had to carry you from the elevator to the bed."

As his words only further my embarrassment, the sudden rush of blood to my face makes my head have a pulse of its own.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize just how much I had to drink."

"It's okay. At least you didn't get sick," he adds.

"This is true." Oh, thank God. Nothing about that would have been attractive.

"What time is it?" Cass asks, sitting up in the bed.

I look at the clock on the bedside table. "Nine."

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