Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 107965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
Oh, and it turned out I actually had peed my pants a little. This morning just kept getting better and better. I slipped my thong off, flushed, and went to the sink to wash my hands. Looking up, I caught my reflection in the mirror. Oh God. I didn’t look much better than the poor mounted heads. My auburn hair was plastered to one side of my face with what might be drool, puffy green eyes were streaked with red lines from not taking out my daily wears, and dark raccoon circles rimmed underneath. I washed up and did my best to fix my hair and face, but there wasn’t much that could make this hangover look any better than it felt.
At least when I opened the bathroom door, the smell of fresh coffee wafted through the air. I found Lumberjack in the kitchen—which technically was also the bedroom and living room in his studio apartment. His back was to me, so I took a moment to appreciate the view. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, and what looked like a pretty muscular ass under those boxer briefs. He was tall—super tall, actually, maybe a foot bigger than my five foot four. Definitely not my normal type. I tended to go for a runner’s body—lean and trim, whereas this guy could best be described as burly.
Without turning around, he pointed to the counter next to him. “Coffee’s there. And I figured you could use some Motrin.”
“God, yes. Thank you.” I walked over and lifted the steaming mug. “You wouldn’t happen to have any creamer, would you?”
“Definitely not.”
“Milk?”
“Nope.”
“So I guess dairy-free cashew creamer blended with oat milk is out of the question?”
He looked over at me, frowned, and went back to what he was doing without saying a word.
I brought the mug to my lips. “Okay then…”
Lumberjack poured a second coffee in silence while I swallowed two Motrin with scalding black coffee. When he was done, he leaned a hip against the counter and looked at me.
“How many vodkas did I drink last night?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Three maybe?”
“The bar had dark paneling, right?”
“Yep.”
I attempted to fit together the bits and pieces of things I could remember. “And a jukebox? I remember putting on Taylor Swift. But then it broke, I think?”
Lumberjack smirked. “I have a secret kill switch behind the bar that cuts the power. Usually have to use it at two AM when drunk fifty-year-olds put on Billy Joel and sing along. I cut you off the third time you played ‘Shake It Off’.”
“Not a Swiftie?”
“Don’t mind her. But I didn’t like the way some of my patrons were looking at you while you were dancing.”
“How exactly were they looking at me?”
He tipped back his mug and drank. “You probably shouldn’t go out by yourself and get hammered.”
“Why? Because I’m a woman?”
“Because you’re a fucking lightweight. And the wrong person could’ve taken you home.”
I sighed. He had a point. I didn’t know this guy from Adam, but I didn’t feel unsafe here with him. “You’re right. Thank you for taking care of me.”
He nodded once.
“It’s just been a really bad week.” I shook my head. “A really bad few months, actually.”
“Is that why you’re at that bougie mental hospital?”
I frowned. “Sierra Wellness Center is not a mental hospital. It’s a voluntary wellness facility.”
“Whatever.” He shrugged. “Are you famous or something?”
“Why would you ask me that?”
“Because a lot of celebrities have come through town to spend time there since it was built three years ago.”
“Oh.” I shook my head. “I’m not famous. My handbags are maybe, but not me.”
“Handbags?”
“I own Amourette, the purse company.”
“Never heard of it.”
“I don’t think they would style well with your moose head and shotgun.”
“Guess that stick was too far up there to pry it out in the bathroom, huh?”
“I was trying to be funny.”
“You’re about as good at that as you are drinking.”
I smiled. “What’s your name? Or should I just continue to call you Lumberjack, like I have been in my head since I woke up at gunpoint?”
“Name’s Brock.”
“Huh…”
“Huh what?”
I shrugged. “It fits you.”
“And what’s yours?”
“February.”
His brows jumped. “Like the month?”
“Exactly like the month.”
“Who names their kid February?”
I sighed. “We don’t have time for the story of my mother.” But speaking of time… I looked around for a clock. “What time is it anyway?”
“Eleven.”
My eyes widened. “In the morning?”
“Well, you didn’t knock out until four, so it’s not like you slept that long.”
“God, I’m screwed. My ladder is definitely going to be gone by now.”
“Your ladder?”
“That’s how I snuck out. My room is on the second floor. I paid one of the maintenance guys to leave a ladder at my window, but he said he’d have to get rid of it before the sun came up.”
“Why do you have to sneak out? I thought you said the place was voluntary?”