Chapter 19

Pain. It was the only constant, and as my eyelids peeled upwards, assaulted by the too bright morning, it hit me like a hammer to my temple.

Drinking was one of those things. I loved it while it was happening, but I'd always wake up and realize what a huge mistake I'd made.

Strangely similar to everything else in my life.

This time was no exception...

Because I had absolutely no clue where the fuck I was.

Big bed. Brown sheets. A thick, heavy blanket of the same hickory shade. The room felt like a box, something straight out of a dollhouse. My pack was nowhere to be seen. Shit. What the fuck did I do?

I sifted through my memory, searching. The party. Dancing. Drinking. Drinking. Drinking. Fuck. I'm an idiot.

My eyes widened, then quickly narrowed back into slits when the action shot a fresh burst of pain through my skull.

I'm in a man's bed. This is definitely a man's bed.

Heart in my throat, I pulled myself to my knees and crawled across the mattress to the door. I said a silent prayer that it would open into a larger room. The size of this one didn't offer any reassurances. It was too small. Motorhome small. There was only one bedroom in the motorhome, and, unless I was very wrong about my mysterious stranger, only one man occupied it.

I pushed it open as if a killer stood on the other side, and the familiar hallway greeted me.

My breath hitched.

I'm in his bed. I gave in. Drunk Jessie did a bad, bad thing.

The combination of stomach acid and liquor burned as my body desperately fought to cleanse itself of the toxins.  I raced for the bathroom, barely making it in time. "Shit! You idiot," I cursed myself. Why did you drink so much? Why?

The worst part was, I didn't remember it. I'd given in to sweet temptation, and had no recollection of... the sweetness. God. What a fucking mess.

I rinsed my mouth and stared at myself in the mirror. My eyes were bloodshot. Dark circles hung beneath them like upside down haloes. I searched my neck. No hickeys. My eyes roamed. Not a bite, scratch, or lover's bruise.

He'd probably been attentive. Slow. He'd probably taken his time. Those freaky eyes had probably read my body like sheet music and played it like a symphony.

My core tightened. Heat flooded. As stupid as it was, I wanted so badly to remember it.

My stomach gurgled. I should eat. The thought repulsed me, but if I didn't, I would never feel better. The small shower contained two items. A bottle of coconut dollar store shampoo, and a bottle of off brand men's body wash. Of course, no razor, and it appeared a man like Bard didn't need conditioner to achieve such beautiful hair.

I shook my head and turned it on. Don't think about his beautiful hair. But I did. As the smell of coconut filled my nose, I thought about it. I'd probably ran my fingers through it. I ran my own through mine, eyes closed. I'd probably gripped it tight to keep him close.

I'm in serious shit.

I rinsed my hair, washed as best I could, trying to ignore the masculine scent for fear it would conjure a new daydream.

It did.

I showered as if on a timer, then threw on the clothes I'd been wearing.

My steps seemed too loud as I made my way into the kitchen and walked to peek inside the mini-fridge. Every motion sent a fresh dose of pain to my skull, and each does of pain brought on a wave of nausea.

I needed food, but the fridge was sad. Only six eggs and a carton of orange juice. I took them out without a second thought. If I really did give up the goods only to not remember, I was at least getting some fucking breakfast out of it.

A small skillet already sat on the camper stove. I looked around. No butter? None. Shit. My eggs would stick and taste like garbage, but beggars couldn't be choosers. Or... I guess, thieves couldn't be choosers? But thieves can be choosers.

I need to pick better people to steal from.

Orange juice always tasted better straight from the carton. I relished the coolness and the much needed hydration. It was almost enough to take the pounding away. Almost.

I cracked two eggs into the pan and waited, spatula poised in one hand, the other holding the carton up in a slow and steady sip.

A throat cleared behind me.

I turned to find Bard leaning against the doorframe. "Do you always take things that don't belong to you?" he asked.

A smirk curved his lips, probably because his abrupt presence had me literally frozen in place, the juice carton still poised in the air and pressed to my lips.

I was probably the funniest looking burglar to ever burgle.

My mind scrambled. He didn't look quite like a man who'd been... satisfied. His hair hung around him in disarray, but his posture just looked like a man lacking sleep.

"Sorry," I mumbled, too unsure of what the hell happened to make assumptions. "I'll pay you back." That's all the explanation I gave him before turning back to the stove and lifting the juice back up to my mouth.

Just keep drinking, and you won't have to speak.

"How?" Bard asked. His heavy footsteps drew closer.

I lowered the juice. "You realize I'm here because I got a job, right?"

"I want my juice now." His voice was low. When I turned to face him, his gaze went to my lips and lingered.

Hell no. That seals it. We did the dirty. He's addicted.

He's trying to pay for it... with orange juice.

I narrowed my eyes at him and brought the carton back up out of spite.

His eyebrow lifted.

I chugged the delicious liquid, fighting to hold my breath until the last drop was gone. When it was, I inspected the carton and shrugged, mouth still full of juice.

"I wouldn't be apposed to a repeat of last night," he said. "Now that you're sober."

My mind exploded at the confirmation. We had. It'd happened. A memory resurfaced. It flooded back to me like tide to a shore, and my eyes widened. I'd been all over him.

The orange juice spewed out of my mouth, and... into his face.

He stumbled back, and furiously ran his hands down his cheeks and along his beard. "What the hell!"

"We had sex!" I pointed a finger at him.

Bard rolled his eyes at me, still wiping the remainder out of his beard. "Oh, did we?" he asked, dripping sarcasm...and orange juice.

I quickly turned back to my breakfast. "It was a one time thing," I told him, flipping my now, way-too-brown, fried eggs. "It won't happen again."

"We didn't have sex."

I turned, but he was walking away. He took a seat at the booth and grabbed a towel from the counter behind him.

I stared at his back.

He turned, still rubbing the juice from his beard, and met my gaze. "You kissed me, thank you very much, and you were ready." His eyes sharpened, jaw twitched. He turned away. "But I don't take advantage of drunk women, Tequila. Your virtue is safe with me."

I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Now, since you're cooking my eggs, maybe you could make some for me."

The inedible food sizzled angrily in front of me. "Sure thing."

They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. Maybe the way out of a man's attentions is through the same spot.

For good measure, I let them cook a bit longer, a smile on my face the whole time. When smoke started to billow up, I decided they were good enough and brought them over to the table.

Bard grimaced. "What the hell did you do to them?"

I schooled my features into a hurt and confused expression. "What?" I feigned embarrassment, actual tears. My acting skills amazed even me. Maybe, if I ever managed to get my shit together, I could have a go at stardom.

He cleared his throat. "Nothing, it looks great." The words were spoken quick, and I'd never seen a man look more uncomfortable. He fought to cut a piece of the egg with his fork, almost losing the battle. When he finally managed to work a bite away and place it in his mouth, his jaw worked comically. Each chew was accompanied by a loud crunch.

Maybe it's just me, but I don't think that's normal.

His eyes watered as he forced himself to swallow.

I couldn't hold it in anymore. It was his face. I barked a laugh, and the moment I did, more followed. "You actually ate that nasty shit!"

He scanned my face through narrowed eyes. "Let me show you how to cook an egg." He pushed himself up from the table and made  long purposeful strides over to the burner.

Like a pro, Bard cracked four eggs into the pan.

"They won't be any better," I pointed out. "There's no butter."

He hummed. "You don't really need it."

"If you say so." I shrugged and took a seat at the booth.

The eggs were finished in no time at all, definitely less time than it took mine. I bit back a smile.

Bard set a plate in front of me. They definitely looked a lot better than mine. I sniffed the air above, smelled better too.

Bard watched me close, a smirk lifting the corner of his mouth.

I took a bite, and my eyes widened. They were delicious. "How the hell did you do that?"

Bard's smirk transformed into a toothy, cat-like grin. "I'm a man of many talents, Tequila."

"Talents I, thankfully, wouldn't know about."

"You like me."

I had to fight to keep my face blank. Did I like him? No. I made it a point to not like anyone. Attachments were nasty little things that only lead to disappointment. It was one thing with the old man, then the people here, but a man. This man.

"Reading people doesn't seem to be your strong suit either." I gave him a pitying look. "At least you can cook," I offered, motioning to the food.

"You're lying."

"I'm really not." I laughed, but the sound came out awkward. Something about him saying it made me almost believe I was. It was the way he perceived everything those freaky eyes made contact with. For all I knew, he was right and I was simply lying to myself. "Why do you care, anyway? Why are we even having this conversation? You like me or something?"

Bard's smile dulled, and as if to prove my point, those eyes sharpened. Searching. Probing. "Maybe..." The word was deep, smooth. His voice was naturally deep, but when he spoke like that, it caused a reaction that was almost physical. I could feel the sound, each wave as it reached my side of the table and wrapped around me.

Dangerous.

I squirmed. "It doesn't matter. I told you. I've sworn off men. Last night was... me being drunk. Stop looking at me like that!"

His lip twitched at my outburst, and he focused on his plate.

I pushed myself up from the table, needing space. Using my hands, I cupped water from the faucet at the kitchen sink and took a drink.

"Who are you running from?" Bard asked.

I choked on the water. He was so quiet, I hadn't even heard him follow me, but now, with his presence behind my back, too close, it was impossible to think straight.

"Don't worry about it," I answered. My gaze roamed, fighting to find anything else to focus on.

The corduroy curtains, the magnet for a pizza place on the fridge, the calendar hanging on the wall. My eyes stopped and widened. "Shit!" I scrambled past a confused Bard and hurriedly searched for my bag. I found it on the passenger seat, but dropped it in my panic.

Large hands reached out and grabbed me. "What's wrong?"

"I'm supposed to meet with my probation officer today!" Shit! How could I be so fucking stupid? I'm going to be late and hungover. I'm going back to jail. Drake's going to find me. My lungs stopped working. He won't care what my excuse is. He's been waiting for me to fuck up.

"Calm down," Bard said. "What time are you supposed to be there?"

"Noon." I looked at the clock. It was eleven thirty. Dammit! I'd never make it in time!

"I'll drive you," Bard said. "We've got plenty of time. The probation department is only twenty minutes from here."

My gaze shot to him. "You've got a car?"

"Yes, I've got a car." He had that look, the soft one that made my insides turn to mush. "Now, c'mon. Let's go." He grabbed a set of keys I hadn't noticed off the counter.

Well, I'll be damned.

Bard led the way with long strides I had to run to keep up with. I was grateful. My life literally depended on getting to this appointment on time.

An older model Camaro was parked right outside the back door, primed down solid black, matte, with a large hood scoop and ground effects. It looked dangerous. It looked fucking sexy. It looked like Bard.

"Close your mouth and get in the car, Tequila."

I shook my head and quickly climbed into the front seat.

Bard got in, jammed the key into the ignition, and the engine roared to life. Powerful. It shook the car and rattled my teeth. What the hell did he do to this thing?

"Buckle up," Bard called out over the noise.

I pulled the seat belt over me and slapped the dash. "I'm ready. Drive it like you stole it."

He smiled the most gorgeous smile at me. My breath caught and held. So-damn-dangerous.

I quickly looked away and pointed towards the windshield. "Let's go, or instead of Tequila, you'll be calling me locked up."

A laugh rumbled out of him, one of the few I'd heard. It was throaty and deep, a lot like Zeke's, only more... A shiver ran through me.

Stop it. Just stop. No men.

The car jerked forward, tearing out of the yard and onto the street. Bard didn't bother with the speed limit. He shifted gears and tore around corners, and my body jerked savagely each time. I kept my mouth shut and gripped the dashboard. Don't let us get pulled over.

We made it to the probation office in twelve minutes, seven minutes early.

Once there, my mind cleared enough for me to focus. This was the most dangerous part of my existence. It was the place where he could find me. The officers assured me that my file would be kept confidential, but they didn't know Drake. He had connections. I could only hope he'd think I skipped on the law too, and then, if he did use this avenue, they'd miss me in the masses that came and went.

My eyes darted up and down the street. I reached back and pulled out my hair tie, allowing my long black locks to fall forward and blanket my face.

"I'll keep an eye out," Bard offered. His eyes were probing again, taking in my hair, and the way I kept my head down.

"I'll be right back," I said, climbing out and trying to look casual. "If anything happens, you just drive away."

I didn't wait for an answer before striding towards the building.

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