Page 38 of The Wild Card
“Don’t change the subject.” Molly yawns, and I know it’s getting too late for this conversation. As sober as she seems, I’d prefer to wait until I know she’s fully present.
Handing her the water bottle again, I stand. “We can discuss tomorrow. Let me grab a towel for your feet, and then I’m putting you to bed.”
“You’re not taking me back to stay with Chase and Harper?” she asks, then takes a drink.
“Wasn’t planning on it,” I tell her. “Unless you want me to? You can stay in what’s normally my room. The bed has clean sheets. And I won’t bite.”
I snap my teeth at her, making her giggle again. A little water dribbles down her chin. I walk away to get a towel, resisting the urge to reach out and wipe it away with my fingers.
Molly’s almost asleep when I get back, eyes heavy lidded and the water bottle empty in her lap. I gently lift her feet, patting them dry.
“A little better?” I ask, and she nods, head lolling a little as she attempts to sit up. “Don’t move. I’ve got you.”
I sweep her up into my arms, where she snuggles into my chest with a sigh.
Nope, I think,this isnot a hardship at all.
CHAPTER 9
Molly
I wakeup feeling like my mouth is filled with cotton balls and my head with tiny dwarves wielding even tinier pickaxes. I’m also completely unaware of where I am for a solid five terrifying seconds before it comes to me.
I’m in Sheet Cake—staying in a loft with my brother and Harper.
No. A sudden memory of Collin carrying me to bed fills my mind. Quickly followed by more memories and a whole slew of regrets.
Did I … arm wrestle a pig farmer?
I groan. Yes. I did that.
But why was I downing cinnamon whisky like it was water? I’m usually not a drinker. Definitely not a drinker of hard liquor.
Oh, right—I got the job at Brightmark. The Fireball was for celebrating. Mostly.
As I open my eyes and sit up, I realize my headache is actually not as bad as I thought. More like tiny dwarves withpillows instead of pickaxes. Probably because Collin forced me to drink a lot of water and gave me two painkillers before bed.
Hisbed, I remember as I sit up, taking in the room. He told me it washisroom, insisting I stay here when I tried to fight him.
Not like I stood a chance. I’m pretty sure I only beat the pig farmer at arm wrestling because he let me cheat. No way could I beat Collin at any kind of physical contest. Not even if I cheated.
Mr. Biceps, I think. Then I groan again because didn’t I tell Collin he wasmyMr. Biceps?
No more whisky. Ever.
Glancing around, I wonder if Collin is some kind of radical minimalist because there is nothing personal in this room. If I had ever given thought to Collin’s bedroom—which, to be clear, I had not—I wouldn’t have pictured somewhere so devoid of personality. Not when Collin himself is larger than life.
I open the walk-in closet (because I’m not above a little light snooping) and find it empty save for a few shirts, a pair of boots, and some sneakers. But I think he lives in Austin full time like Chase, so maybe this is more of a guest place to stay when he’s in town?
Must be nice to have that kind of money. Though it’s not so much the dollar amounts as it is the freedom that comes with it I’m envious of.
In the en suite bathroom, I find a small collection of toiletries on the counter next to a bottle of water and a note scrawled in neat cursive.
Morning, darlin’. I won’t say it’s agoodmorning because that all depends on how your head feels. Drink more water and I’ll have coffee ready (if you drink coffee,that is) and will get you the best hangover cure breakfast when you’re ready.
-YOUR Mr. Biceps
Yep. Whisky is on my permanent do-not-fly list.
