Page 37 of Nightmare

I shove to my feet and stumble, not quite realizing just how drunk I actually am until I’m standing upright and the blood rushes to my head. As if in slow motion, I find myself stumbling. Western’s hand lashes out, stopping me from tripping, and when he corrects me, I find myself a whole lot closer to him than I was a second ago.

My vision swims.

I lose my breath again.

“I should, ah, go,” I say, pushing back and glancing at Luna. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You’re not driving,” Luna calls, unable to get to me as she’s currently serving a customer.

“I’ll call a cab!” I yell as I stumble my way toward the front door.

The moment my feet hit the pavement after much difficulty with the stairs, I’m forced to take hold of a lamp post because my head is quite literally swimming. The fresh air is doing nothing but making me feel worse. Reaching for my phone after digging around in my purse, I curl my fingers around it and pull it out, staring hazily at the screen. I need to call a cab, because I need to go to bed.

Like, yesterday.

“I’ll take you.”

The low rumbling voice has me turning suddenly, losing my footing yet again. For the second time tonight, Western catches me and stops me tumbling down onto my backside.

“Oh, no, it’s okay,” I say, waving a hand as I correct myself.

“I’ll take you.”

Right.

Western doesn’t argue.

“I’m not certain I can stay on your bike,” I say, giving him a concerned expression.

“Got my truck.”

Right.

His truck.

Of course he has a truck.

Why wouldn’t he?

Too tired and intoxicated to argue, I nod and follow him as he walks to his truck which is parked just down from the club. It’s big, black, and, oh, it suits him. I thought he looked good on a motorcycle, but I would bet he looks just as good in this truck. Opening the door for me, I hastily climb in, trying very hard not to show just how difficult that is. When my bottom is planted firmly on the seat, Western leans in and takes the seatbelt, pulling it over my lap and clicking it into place.

I hold my breath as I watch his face move past mine, and the scent of him fills my nostrils. My god, I want to know what he tastes like, what it would feel like to touch him, to have his body on mine, to run my fingers over his skin.

What ... the fuck?

Shaking my head as he closes the door, I try to get my mind back into a semi-sober state where I’m not fantasizing about a man I barely know.

Western climbs into the truck, turning it on.

It roars to life with a sexy rumble that only makes my fantasies skyrocket out of control.

“Should you be driving?”

That is hardly what I’m really concerned about, but it comes out anyway.

No filter and all that.

“Drive all the time,” he murmurs, pulling out onto the road.

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