Love Drunk (Love Me Duet 1)

2

My father’s well-known, we come from an old line of traditions, some of which have never been broken. Women, for example, should never be allowed to work outside the family’s business. This was overlooked for me—I am my father’s girl, his only child, and heir to all his work.

He desperately wants me to marry and have kids, and he needs me to do that soon. I’m not ready, though. He tells me by my age, he’d already met my mother, and I was on the way while he took over the family business from his father.

Our name has been in the press, for good and bad reasons, and my father is better known than the president. Evergreen is where we were raised. It’s where his father, and his father before him, were raised. They made this town what it is, and now it is one of the biggest distribution hubs of guns and drugs, among other things, in the world.

So, I wasn’t surprised when Gunner mentioned my name. Hell, my father most likely owns a large share of the club we were just at, or perhaps even the land it was built on—probably both. It’s what they do, buy out all the land and ownership rights to what’s built on it. So, even if you think you might have control, you don’t. Father does. I was always highly amused by his business smarts growing up. It’s what made me want to open my café. Even if my father helped me with the money side of things, I did most of it, and I’m damn proud of my achievements as well.

Turning to Gunner, we step out of the club, but he doesn’t look at me until we are both clear of the loud music and out in the cold air. It’s silent, it’s late, and most everyone is inside or left for the evening.

“I can go…” I say, killing the silence. I point in the wrong direction and quickly drop my hand back to my side.

“Yellow is your color. Do you know that?” he asks, stepping closer. His finger lifts and touches my shoulder ever so slightly. He pulls it back when I stop breathing from the contact, and his eyes do that thing where they’re amused with me again. It’s almost a twinkle but not quite.

“Thank you.” My hands touch the hem of the dress, but my eyes stay focused on him.

“Coffee?” he asks, offering me his hand. I place mine in his, and his fingers close around mine and we start walking. It doesn’t take us long to reach the large door of a two-story apartment building. Gunner unlocks the door with his free hand, not letting go of mine, and he pushes the door open.

He’s correct. He doesn’t live far.

The entry’s bare. I see no personal effects as he closes the door behind me and then waves to the stairs. “Kitchen’s upstairs.” I look past the staircase and see nothing, then step up. He’s behind me and I hope he can’t see the G-string I have on because this dress is making its way upward again. I hear the click of a button when I reach the last step and spin around to see him pushing a button on his phone. All the lights upstairs flick on, and he slides his phone back into his pocket.

Turning as he walks past me to the kitchen, my eyes skirt everywhere, wanting to take in what’s in front of me. The floors are white-washed wood and the walls are white—all bare. The only color is the red Keurig on his counter, which is also void of anything. It’s very clean and shiny. Sterile, even.

“I’ve never done this,” I say, stepping closer as my hands touch the cold granite of the countertop.

“Had coffee?” he asks, pouring two cups. He holds up the half-and-half, and I nod my head.

“No, I mean with a stranger. You could be a serial killer for all I know.” He smirks but doesn’t tell me differently. “I mean, we’ve just met. Do you do this often?”

Gunner pushes my coffee toward me, and I look at the black cup and watch the steam trickle upward like a fluffy cloud.

“Yes. But I usually don’t do talking. Just fucking.”

“Oh,” I say, wrapping my hands around the hot cup, so I’m not tempted to look up at him with my rosy red cheeks from his words. “Why didn’t you take one of those other girls? I’m sure they would have been up to—”

“Fucking,” he says, finishing what I didn’t get to say.

“Yes.”

“They don’t hold my interest. My intent was to fuck you, but I see you’re not that kind of girl. So, coffee it is…” he pauses, “… for now,” he finishes, leaving room for more, a blatant hint of what he wants from me. Turning away, I look anywhere but at him. The way he speaks, it’s almost velvety, as if he knows how to treat every word before it leaves his mouth. Premeditated. Calculated. But oh so sexy.