Wet and Reckless (Private Pleasures 4)

“Have fun,” she said, wincing when the careless tone she’d aimed for sounded pissy. Like he needed her encouragement anyway. As far as she could see, he’d been having plenty of fun tonight. At least three bridesmaids’ worth.

“Better things to do with the rest of your night, Rox? Better people to do them with?”

“I wouldn’t say that, but speaking strictly for myself, no story that starts with Jager shots ever ends well.” With that piece of hard-earned Goodhart wisdom imparted, she turned to grab her purse and Gib before adding, “I’m out.”

“With whom?”

She didn’t see him push away from the wall, but when she swung around, he was right there. She nearly nailed him in the nuts with Gibson. He shifted so the case thudded off his thigh and let out a short grunt. She didn’t know if the impact of the case to his leg caused the sound or the knowledge that his night had come within millimeters of ending even worse than one of her Jager shot stories. “Watch out, West.”

He avoided the guitar and stepped closer. “With whom?”

“With myself.”

“You’re going to walk home?”

“It’s, like, a mile.”

His brows lowered. “Alone?”

“It’s barely nine, oh, and it’s Bluelick. Besides, if anybody tries anything”—she thumped his leg again with the guitar—“Gib and I will lay them out.”

“Ow. No doubt.” He wrestled the case from her. “I’ll go with you.” Then he turned and left her in the dust.

“Hey…” Exasperated, she trotted after him. “I don’t need anybody to walk me home.”

“You’re walking me home, Reckless. Saving me from one of those stories that starts with Jager shots and ends poorly.”

Chapter Ten

West would have offered to drive Roxy home. Would have, should have, wanted to, but he was in no condition to get behind the wheel. He could blame Shaun, Josh, Tyler, and the rest of those motherfuckers for fucking him up under the guise of “thanking” him for staying sober the night of Junior’s bachelor party. Thank you, his ass. One shot said, “thank you.” Two said, “You’re a stand-up guy.” Five shots said, “No good deed goes unpunished.”

He was feeling the punishment now in the form of a light head and a dire need for fresh air. If he ended up on his knees tonight, he was going to kick every one of their smug asses tomorrow. An invisible divot in the carpet tripped him, and he took a staggering step to stop from falling. Okay, day after tomorrow.

“You all right?” Roxy grabbed hold of his arm to steady him, as if she had any real hope of holding him upright even if she suddenly sprouted the bullshit extra inch of height listed on her expired license.

“Never better.”

She stepped in front of him, got her hands on his shoulders, and looked him up and down, possibly trying to figure out just how wasted he was. The answer? Ninety-nine percent shit-faced, tipping toward a hundred as the last shot caught up with him.

She leaned in and sniffed. “Officer Donovan, you smell like a barrel of whiskey rolled by a thousand bridesmaids. Sure you’re up for a walk home?”

“I’m fine.” Actual conversation would be more convincing right about now, but he couldn’t seem to wring the right words out of his bourbon-soaked brain. A nice guy would compliment her on her performance, but he was still grappling with a personal problem he’d confronted while watching Roxy sitting pretty on a barstool, seducing every guy in the room—including him—with the talent that ‘til tonight had been his alone to enjoy. And yeah, it was straight up 5150 to be jealous of her sharing something that had never been especially intended for him in the first place, but ever since Roxy had hitchhiked into his life, he’d been struggling to keep a grip on his sanity.

Then again, maybe his real problem had started once Kenny had arrived to assume entertainment duties, and Roxy had hit the dance floor. Cooper from the firehouse could manage to untangle his tongue and ask her for a dance. Jeb Rawley could do his best to charm her with his shit-eating smile and boy band moves. Hell, even Junior could back up on her with his burly dude version of a twerk and laugh along with the rest of the crowd when she slapped his ass and sent him bumping and grinding back to his bride.

Any fool could get close to her, share a laugh with her, possibly even try his hand at enticing her—she radiated that kind of fun, open energy. Any fool except him, that was, because the energy between them wasn’t open or fun. It was supercharged. Fraught with tension. Dangerous.

“Earth to West?” she whispered.

Shit. Without really meaning to make it happen, he’d somehow ended up standing deep into her personal space, his head dipped low so the tip of his nose hovered near hers. Maybe they should just…release the tension?

“Hey, um, guys?”

West ignored the polite voice coming from annoyingly close behind him. Damn, she had the prettiest eyes. Sparkling blue-green pools a man could drown in.

They blinked and shifted over his shoulder. Her lips curved into a smile. “Hi, Cooper. What’s up?” She backed away an inch as she spoke but kept a hand on his arm.

“Are you headed out already?”