Page 58 of Buckled in Barbwire

“And tonight we drink,” Brody booms.

Nimble fingers get busy unwrapping the foil. His impressive talent has the cork popped before I can blink. Bubbles spill along the sides, revealing that he’s not perfect. He hammers it home by slurping the excess as it trickles down. It’s entirely too provocative but I can’t look away.

Once the fizzy stream stops, he holds the bottle out to me. “Want some?”

“I’ll get a cup.” My voice is scratchy.

Green settles on blue as we lock eyes. “Afraid to get my germs?”

“Very. You might rub off on me.”

Brody’s lips curve into a devastating smile that roots me in place. “What if I promise to be gentle?”

Paisley is about to kneel and undo my jeans when a loud buzz yanks me from the dream. I groan as the illusion fades, leaving me hanging. My hips shift in search of friction and bump into lush curves. A muffled grunt complains about my movement but tapers off into a breathy snore almost immediately.

Clarity sweeps at the fog in my brain. As I come to, I recognize the weight sprawled on top of me. Paisley is still out like a light and using me as a pillow. My mouth curves into a satisfied smirk.

That expression flips into a frown when the buzzing begins again. I’m reluctant to move but the commotion won’t quit. My hand blindly searches for the source on the nightstand. I silence the incessant rattling and enjoy a moment of peace. Just as I’m about to chuck the device over the railing, another attempt to reach me vibrates my palm.

“Fucking cock blocker,” I grumble while slipping out from under Paisley.

The instant I stand up, I’m smacked with the consequences of my choices. A sharp throb pounds behind my eyes, scolding me for that third bottle of Dom. Worth it seeing as my wife kept me warm all night.

She doesn’t so much as twitch while I stomp from the room like a poked bear. I’d been really damn clear about no disruptions. Someone forgot the memo.

Once I’m out of earshot, I swipe to accept the call and put him on speaker. “This better be urgent, Colt.”

“Guess again.”

I pause on the stairs. “Bianca.”

My sister huffs. “What took you so long?”

“Give me a break. It’s”—I squint at the screen—“ten in the morning?”

“Does that surprise you?”

Like a pheasant jumping out of the bushes, not that I’ll admit it. Fuck, I slept deeper than a well. My groggy mind struggles to focus while I amble into the kitchen. Except this doesn’t feel like the lingering effects of a drunken stupor. I lift my gaze to where the woman responsible lies. It’s too damn much, which is just what I need.

“Hello?” Bianca’s shrill voice stabs at my aching head.

“Coffee,” I mutter and shuffle to the counter.

“Did I wake you up?”

My body is on autopilot as I go through the motions to get caffeine injected into my system. There are too many buttons on the machine. “Rough morning.”

“It’s about to get worse,” my sister warns.

“Mhmm, great.” I’m barely listening while trying to get this machine to brew. This model is too complicated.

“Care to explain why you’re out of town with Paisley?”

The cinch wrapped around my skull squeezes when the complicated contraption remains silent. “Work trip.”

“Just the two of you?”

“Consider it a reward retreat for the best employee.” It’s impressive that I can come up with this shit in my current state.

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