Page 32 of One Week Wingman

I finish my beer in one go, and then start on Seb’s, too. Now that the panic is subsiding, I’m just left feeling off-balance, like I’ve had a glimpse of technicolor, and now I’m back in monochrome again. I’d like to go hide in a dark room to process it all, but I know, that would make this an even bigger deal than it already is, so I play it casual, just drinking quietly as the others talk around me; avoiding Seb’s questioning gaze across the table—and just how exposed I suddenly feel.

I bob up. “Who wants another drink?” I blurt, needing to dull the weird adrenaline buzzing in my veins. Not to mention the sight of Daisy and Jason snuggling together, murmuring sweet nothings—and ‘Stefano’holding court for everyone, too. How did my life suddenly get so complicated?

And when can it please stop?

Yup, it’s definitely time for another round.

8

SEBASTIAN

“Why arewe sneaking in the back way?” I ask, watching as Roxy struggles with the latch on the gate that I hope leads to the garden of her parents’ house.

And not, you know, the Chief of the Ashford Falls Police.

“Because…” Tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth, she flips the latch down and then up again without sliding the bolt. Frowns. Does it again, swaying. After two hours at the bar, and countless beers, Roxy is well past tipsy and on her way to truly drunk. I managed to keep her from stumbling into a gutter on the walk home, but now, with the finish line in sight, she seems to have forgotten how a gate works.

“Here.” I gently move her out of the way. “Allow me.”

She leans back against the fence and closes her eyes. Her cheeks are pink and her dark bangs lay sweaty on her forehead. Never mind those graduation stories, she is going to have one killer hangover come tomorrow morning.

“There,” I say, swinging the gate wide. “Open sesame.”

“Shhh,” she hisses, as I steer her down the path around the back of the house. “Be quiet! If mom sees, she’ll be sooo disappointed in me. Not you. She loves you.” She staggers a little, and I grab her arm to stop her tripping and falling into the small ornamental pond.

“I’m sorry, aren’t you thirty?” I ask, amused. “A little old to be sneaking around.”

“How dare you!” Roxy gasps. “I’m twenty-nine. And very mature. Ooh!”

She suddenly breaks away and darts across the garden towards a large tree and… the old treehouse, perched in its branches.

Oh no.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I hurry to catch up, but Roxy is already four steps up the rope ladder. I steady it for her, groaning. “You’re going to break your neck,” I warn her.

She glances down and sees me right below her. “Don’t look at my ass!”

I wasn’t, but of course, now I can’t help it. It is pretty shapely, clad in tight denim, swaying from side to side as she disappears into the treehouse.

Then I hear a thudding noise.

“Roxy?” I call, feeling a jolt of panic. I’m supposed to be looking after the woman, not letting her break her damn neck.

There’s no response.

I clamber up the rope ladder after her and haul myself into the treehouse. Roxy is fine: laying flat on her back, staring up at the cobweb-covered beams.

I exhale in relief and drop to the floor beside her. “You scared me.”

“Huh?” she blinks.

“Nothing.”

I lay back beside her, wondering how, exactly, I wound up babysitting a drunk bartender in a small town treehouse in the middle of Connecticut.

It’s certainly not how I expected my week to go, but surprisingly, I don’t hate it. Roxy’s family is a trip, and as for the woman herself…

Well, I’m learning all kinds of new things about her. Like the fact she’s been hiding some serious musical talent under those sarcastic quips and chunky boots.

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