Page 12 of I Blame the Alcohol

Carefully placing both hands on the sink behind me, Cody lowers himself down until we are face-to-face, and I'm caged between his muscular arms. He manages to do the whole move without touching a single hair on my body, managing to stay respectful in the most dominating way possible.

I hate how much I love it.

“You aren’t wrong about that one.” With our faces level, I can see the alcohol glaze in his eyes. There’s something else swirling around in there but my focus is too centred on my erratic breathing to figure out what it could be.

“Well, what are you going to do about it?” The question comes out breathier than I intended, and I mentally scold my feminine urges for succumbing to such a blatant alpha move.

My hormones are stronger than that.

He holds my gaze for a painstakingly long second then starts closing the space between us. My beath catches, thinking he’s about to kiss me, but at the last second, Cody swerves like the talented lacrosse player he is and whispers softly in my ear, “We can start rebuilding tomorrow morning. Same time, same place.”

He straightens and gives me the nod we’ve exchanged every morning for the past four months. “You know where to find me.”

“You better not be late because you’re hungover!” I shout the words to his retreating form, mentally checking off another Cody conversation victory. He might have gotten the drop on me tonight with the drunken alpha moves, but I got the last word.

Grinning in triumph, I start humming One Direction as I fix the few curls that fell astray. I’m just finishing up when a fading voice reaches my ear, so faint I almost wonder if I imagined it.

“I won’t be late, Stel. You’re in my calendar.”

The grin leaves my lips as my mental tally drops to zero.

Chapter 4

Cody

The fire alarm goes off beside my head.

I groan in agony, the blaring noise bringing my disoriented senses conscious as I blink up at an unfamiliar ceiling.

“Who the fuck set an alarm?”

The gravelly voice hits my ears and I shift on the couch to see Nico glaring up at me from his makeshift bed on the floor. The alarm continues to scream as I stare back, confused as to why I’m on somebody’s couch and why we aren’t all evacuating.

Oh, right. Mason’s party.

Fingers fumbling, I search my pant pockets for my phone and squint at the time. 4:45am.

Shutting off the alarm, I swallow the nausea climbing in my throat and haul my ass off the couch. Pieces of the night before start to filter through as I stumble through the darkened hallway to the bathroom.

A monster of a hangover bangs through my skull as I flick on the lights, my bloodshot eyes and dishevelled clothes staring wearily back at myself in the mirror.

I look like shit.

Quickly stripping down and hopping in the shower behind me, I hiss out a breath as cold water hits my back, but I don’t bother turning up the heat before hopping back out and throwing on the gym gear I’d stashed here the night before. I finish getting ready and creep back out the door, doing my best not to step on the shadowed bodies gracing Mason’s living room floor.

The bitter, December air bites my skin the second I step outside, but it doesn’t keep the smile from stretching across my face as one thought pounds its way through my dehydrated mind.

See Stella.

“The fallen captain has returned!” Throwing my bag in a cubby, I turn and see my old pal, Stephen manning the front desk like he always does. His dark ‘fro seems longer and even more out of control than the last time I saw it, but the ridiculously cheerful grin brightening his face is the same.

“It’s good to see you too, Stephen. How have things been?”

“Oh, you know. Same old, same old.” He gives me a nonchalant shrug, the bright smile never once leaving his face. “I have missed watching you and O’Brien go at it, though.”

I bark out a laugh, my hangover temporarily forgotten, “I’ve missed being your entertainment as well.”

I spy Stella already setting up in her free-range section, pushing and arranging boxes and mats to fit whatever cardio horror she has planned.

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