Page 26 of Tempting Promises
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“Great.”
Faye laughs. “Although you two communicate through bickering, so maybe you should just call him an asshole or something. That can be your new code word for thank you.”
I roll my eyes and move out of Rowan’s bed. God, just thinking those words makes me feel ill. Or maybe it’s the tequila—whatever.
Something flashes back in my mind. “Wait, you said he carried me out?”
“Yes.”
“I have a vague recollection of something, but there’s no way.”
Her brows lift. “Oh?”
I should’ve kept my mouth shut. “I think I said something about his cologne or him smelling good.”
“I can’t wait to ask him.”
“Do it, and you’ll die,” I warn her.
She laughs. “Yeah, like you scare me. Please.”
My fears are completely different because I have no idea what else I might have said to Rowan Whitlock.
Before I can think too much, I hear a door open and bite back my groan. Great. Now I have to thank the man for taking care of me when I was clearly unable to do it myself. Just one more notch on my pole of awesomeness.
There’s a soft knock on the door, and Faye nudges me. I glare at her, but she just scowls back.
Fine.
“We’re up, Rowan.”
The door pushes open, and he’s standing there in tight jeans, a brown jacket, and baseball hat. I really wish he was ugly, but of course, he’s not. He’s always been hot, and he’s like a wine that only gets better with age.
I hate that.
“I bet you feel like ass,” he says, making all those nice thoughts evaporate.
“Better to feel like one than to be one, which you know . . .”
Faye clears her throat. “You’re like children. Now, what did you want to say to Rowan?”
I look at her for a beat, and she gives me a stern look, clearly thinking I need to be treated like a child.
Whatever my feelings are about him, he was really nice and I do owe him my gratitude. “Thank you, Rowan. For taking care of me and getting me home safe and away from the sleezy guy. Also for the medicine and electrolytes that will allow me not want to bury my head.”
He smirks. “You’re welcome.”
Yeah, we all know what that smirk means. That he won and I have to eat the crow I so bitterly dislike.
“Yes, well,” I say, not sure of where I go from here. I do know it’s out of his room though. “Do you know where my boots are?”
“I do actually.”
I swear. “I’m way too hungover for you to be cute.”
“You think I’m cute?”
