Page 21 of Building My Pack

Grinning, he says, "Hi. Hope you don't mind, but can't let Waylen hog all the time with the most beautiful woman in the house."

I want to disagree and say I don't even come close with my thick thighs and plus-sized, hourglass figure compared to some of the incredibly skimpy-dressed women in here, but I can't make the words come out. Especially as he gives me a look that dares me to argue with him. When I don't, he winks at me and starts moving, pulling me along with him.

Dancing with Mitchell is almost just as easy as dancing with Waylen. The latter had a little more patience with my beginner-level steps. I almost step all over Mitchell's boots at one point and I can't help but tease him. "You're good," I say. Then when a cocky smile graces his lips, I pull him down close enough to kiss and loudly whisper, "But, I think Waylen is better."

This lights a fire in his eyes and he pulls the same move his friend did, spinning me out and back in but doesn't stop there. After the last couple spins where Waylen pulled me back in, Mitchell guides me in a walk around his body, pulls our hands over my head in a spin, pushes me out into another walk around his body, and then into enough spins to make me dizzy before bringing our chests back together. I'm more wobbly than when I'd originally stood at the table, but I can't help throwing my head back with my laugh. It's been a long time since I've felt free enough to have this much fun.

Mitchell drops his mouth to my ear and breathes, "I promise you, Waylen isn't better." He takes his time pulling away but not before placing a small kiss on my cheek.

I hadn't considered how flirtatious my words had sounded until they were spilling from his lips. As he draws back, our eyes lock and the moment is there. Butterflies take flight in my stomach as his gaze drops to my mouth and back up again. Giddy happiness having taken over my feelings, and the strong burnt-amber surrounding me, I lean closer and lift my chin in invitation. He drops my hand that he was leading me around the dance floor with and winds it into the back of my hair before angling my face a little higher. Then his lips close over mine, and I seriously can't think straight to save my life. It's short and sweet with no tongue, but for that fraction of time, I'm caught up in the moment of having fun with no strings attached. Kissing this practical stranger just because it feels right.

When he pulls away, there's a slight pinkness to his cheeks that weren't there before. Then we're dancing again, only closer this time. By the fourth song with him, I'm threatening to break a sweat and need a drink. As we make it back to our table, Kit and Waylen give small claps.

"Not bad for a beginner," Waylen encourages.

Neither of them mention the kiss they had to have seen between me and their friend. We do, however, have many more drinks. At some point, I'm too drunk to have a filter and when they start talking something about a property they're looking into buying, I spill my guts. Do I stop it athey, I used to sell houses and property but got fired today? Obviously not, because that's not who drunk me is, apparently. They get my whole life story just like Kit did earlier, and when I apologize, Mitchell tells me not to.

"No one's life is perfect," he says. "No matter what kind of front they put on for people, so don't apologize for going through some stuff. You know what they say about sitting somewhere down near the bottom, right?"

"That there's only one place to go...up?" I retort, drunk me rolling my eyes at the cliché.

They all laugh, but Mitchell stands up and comes to sweep me off my feet. "Hell no. They say stand this beautiful ass up and dance."

He drags me around the floor as I stumble more than dance, but he keeps going anyway until I'm so out of breath that I can't even laugh when I step on his toes for the fifth time. There's another round of drinks on the table waiting for us, but before I can dive into mine, Kit asks for my phone. Humoring him, I dig it out of my pocket and unlock it before handing it over.

Pressing a few buttons, he hands it back. "Call me."

"What?" I ask, my drunk brain not catching onto why he's telling me to call him when he's sitting right here in front of me.

"You've definitely drunk too much to be driving, so we're going to knock another one of those list items off. Just don't puke in my truck. Deal?" he says, leaving me speechless. How is it possible that I ever thought someone like George cared for me? This man I only just met several hours ago has already been more thoughtful in that time than he was in the years that we were together.

Kit reaches out to touch my elbow, sending shivers up my arm, and I realize I've been staring off into space lost in thought. I do like he asked and press the button to keep up with the farce and hang up just as quickly.

The rest of the night turns into a blur as we drink more, all but Kit, and we dance until my legs feel like they're going to fall off. I even manage to drag Kit out onto the dance floor. He's as new to the two-step thing as I am, so we ended up stumbling all over each other until we gave up and made our own little dance.

I remember telling Waylen and Mitchell goodbye and thanking them for an awesome night. The latter snuck in a quick peck across my lips while Waylen kissed me on the cheek. We got into Kit's truck, but the drive was a blur. I may have invited him in like the crazy person I am, and he declined. Does that stop me from stealing a kiss from him when we hug goodnight? Nope. He's the first to pull away, and leaves without so much as another word. His odd behavior follows me all the way to the couch where I promptly pass out.

Chapter 11

Bryce

Rolling over the next morning is almost too much for my achy body to handle. Not like I have a choice since the sun seems to have a personal vendetta against me today, streaming through the smallest of cracks in my window and sucker punching me right in the eyes where it seems to be throbbing. I keep rolling and one second, I'm laying on the roughest mattress ever and the next I'm on my back on the floor, trying to catch my breath. At what point I decided last night to sleep on the couch and not my bed or even downstairs, I have no clue, but it was a horrible idea. Not to mention having the wind knocked out of me when I fell just now because it's not made for a big girl to sleep on, but I'm getting old. Apparently, my back knows it better than I do.

The longer I lay on the floor, the more memories from the night before start flooding my brain. Not only had I forced my pathetic excuse for a life story on three total strangers, I'd let them pay for all my drinks last night, and there were a lot if I'm remembering correctly. Then on top of that, I'd gone and kissed Mitchell right in the middle of the dance floor when all they were trying to do was be nice and help me forget that my life is in total shambles. Though, I will admit that the dancing was nice. I've never done anything like it before. George probably would've chewed his own leg off as an excuse not to go before even thinking about doing something like it.

Evidently, I'd come in from all of the excitement and didn't make it past the couch. I'm still wearing my clothes from last night and they still carry the faint scent of amber and cedarwood. They're both overpowered by ocean breeze, though. Which makes sense considering Kit gave me a ride home. My eyes jerk open in surprise right before I slap both hands over them. I didnotkiss him on my doorstep, sending him hightailing it to his truck. After all the nice things he did for me yesterday. That's how I repay the guy? Embarrassing him in front of his friends and then jumping him when he's even nicer, giving me a ride home.

Groaning from both delayed mortification and trying to pick my big bum off the floor, I drag my feet all the way upstairs to hop in the shower. The heat does wonders for getting the knots out of my shoulders which helps relieve my headache some. Medicine out of the cabinet will hopefully take care of the rest as I toss it back.

Standing towel clad in the middle of my closet, I have a pure moment of panic where my mind tells me I should be dressing in one of my work-attire outfits, but I'm hit with a quick reminder that there's no point. That's when the tears start, and I end up crossed-legged in the middle of my closet floor crying my eyes out like I wanted to all day yesterday. I don't know how long it takes before I'm able to pull myself together and get my bum off the floor for the second time this morning, but I manage. Slapping the fancy skirts and blouses hanging on their hangers teasing me on my way out, I slam the door a little harder than necessary. Marching over to my dresser, I grab underclothes and a pair of yoga pants and a t-shirt. I have absolutely no plans for the rest of the day, and have no desire to force my presence on anyone, so why bother dressing nice?

I don't even bother trying to find my phone downstairs to check and see if Santiago tried calling this morning. Doubts are still weighing heavily in my heart about the whole situation. More than doubt, though, is the shame. The thought of having to tell him I got fired is enough to make me finally puke. It's only by small miracles that I hold it back. Grabbing a water from the fridge, I chug the entire thing and reach for another just as the doorbell rings. Maybe it's the hangover, but I've never realized just how absolutely horrid that sound is.

Silver linings, at least I remembered to lock the door behind me last night before passing out, I notice as I get there. It swings open to none other than Kit, who immediately lifts a big, brown-paper sack. He's dressed in a similar way to how he was yesterday when we'd first met in blue jeans and a sleeveless shirt with his hair pulled back in a ponytail bun. I can't even appreciate the way his muscles flex in his bicep as he holds the bag out to me.

"I was driving through from another job and figured you might need a little pick-me-up this morning," he says with a bright smile.

I realize I'm squinting at the sunlight and quickly fix my face. "How did you know?"

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