Painkiller

Yeah, he may have a beer or two, but if he was drunk he never drove home.

“I got shit-faced sitting in my car in front of the house.” He chuckled, but it didn’t sound very humorous.

“How about I help you get to bed? You know if your dad sees you like this he’ll probably be pissed.”

Rebel shrugged. “He doesn’t give a shit, Rosie. You’re the apple of his eye.”

She felt her face heat, knowing that wasn’t true. His father, Lawson, was a good man, took care of her when her biological father had skipped town on them, but she also knew he loved Rebel deeply.

Rosie reached out and took his hand in hers, pulling him out of the bathroom, but she went slowly. Having Rebel, all six-foot-three, and two hundred pounds of muscle falling over on her was not how she wanted to end the night.

He braced a hand on the wall to steady himself as they moved toward the bedroom. Pushing the door open and letting him go in first, she heard him start to grumble.

“I should have taken a shower, but unless you want to wash my back and see me butt ass naked, I’ll just do it in the morning.”

She felt her face heat even further at his words. Yes, she actually would have helped him shower, but it wouldn’t have been because she was doing a good deed. No, she loved him, and seeing Rebel with nothing on was obviously a huge turn-on.

He sat on the bed and sighed, and for a second she just sat there, not sure if he was really okay to be left alone. Then he turned his head and looked at her. “I’m sorry you have to see me like this, Rosie.” He gave her that half smile again, and her heart sped up.

God, I love this guy, and I don’t think I could ever tell him.

He lay back on the bed and closed his eyes, throwing an arm over them and groaning. “The room is spinning. I shouldn’t have drunk so much.”

“Why did you drink so much?”

He removed his arm from over his eyes and looked at her. He didn’t speak for long seconds, and she didn’t know if he’d actually respond. But then he cleared his throat and turned his focus to the ceiling. “I just have my own shit I’m dealing with, and I guess I can’t talk to anyone but a liquor bottle.”

She knitted her brows and moved closer. “Rebel, you know you can talk to me about anything.”

He shook his head but didn’t respond. Rebel sat up again and grabbed his shirt from behind his back, pulled it up and over his head, and tossed it aside. The sight of his hard body had everything in her tensing. He lay back down and covered his eyes with his arm again.

The room grew silent, and Rosie knew this conversation was done. It didn’t take long before she heard the deep, even sound of him breathing, and knew he was asleep, or better yet, passed out.

Rosie sat on the bed beside him and just watched his broad, muscular chest rise and fall. He had a tattoo on his side, a Mayan calendar that was intricate as it was beautiful. Letting out a deep sigh she stood and was about to head back upstairs when Rebel reached out and grabbed her hand with his.

She froze and looked at him. His eyes were open and trained on her, but they were glossy, and she doubted he’d remember any of this come morning. He was just too drunk.

“You’re too fucking good for any of this.”

She knitted her brows and placed her other hand over his, curling her fingers against his warm flesh. Her heart was racing a mile a minute, and it had everything to do with the fact this one touch sent tingles of awareness through her.

She looked a mess right now, certainly not like the girls he’d dated in the past. She’d always thought of herself as frumpy and the “plain Jane” type of girl. The girls Rebel tended to go after were the complete opposite.

But in this moment, when he wasn’t fully aware of his surroundings, she could let her guard down, even for a second.

She smoothed her fingers over his bigger ones and stared into his eyes. “What do you mean?” She shouldn’t have asked, because he was intoxicated, and his ramblings probably wouldn’t be coherent.

“Too good for this fucking town, for the people that live here, and for…” He closed his eyes and pulled his hand away, rubbing his forehead. “I’m too drunk. I need to keep my mouth shut.” He opened his eyes and looked at her again. “Thanks for getting me to bed, Rosie.”

She loved how he said her name, all thick and sleep-like. His wall of reserve wasn’t as high right now, but if she didn’t leave she might find herself saying something she’d regret, something he may even remember come morning.