Every Time I Fall (Orchid Valley 3)

I fold my arms on the table and bury my face in them. “Someone wake me up. I’m having a terrible nightmare.”

Chapter Four

Abbi

Dean nudges me with his elbow. “Abbi, come on. Talk to me.”

“Smithy!” I call, barely lifting my head when I see my friend pass our table. “I need more alcohol. Stat!”

Smithy stops, tray full of beer pitchers resting on one hand. “You’re gonna have to be more specific, baby girl. Alcohol is kind of what we do here.”

I look to Dean. “What’s a good way to get drunk fast?”

His eyes go wide. “Faster than those martinis you drink?”

“Yes! Faster than that.”

He chokes on a laugh. “Uh, shots, I guess?”

I nod. “Let’s do it.” I raise my hand. “Smithy, three shots of tequila.”

“Holy fuck, what are you doing?” Dean mutters.

“If you insist on continuing this conversation, I’m going to do everything in my power not to remember it. Thanks.”

Dean smirks. “Bring her the salt and the limes too,” he says without taking his eyes off me.

“Sure thing,” Smithy says, already moving on to deliver the beer.

Dean’s still staring at me, so I respond the mature way and hide my face in my arms until Smithy returns with one of the boards used for beer flights. There are four small glasses on the board. Three shots of golden memory eraser all in a row, one glass of lime wedges, and in the fifth spot he has a salt shaker.

I lift my head as Smithy slides it in front of me, but before I can grab a shot, Dean reaches out and drags the board in front of himself.

“Those are mine,” I say, though I’m already having second thoughts about the wisdom of three shots. One I can probably handle, but three? Chances are I’ll be sharing with Dean, anyway. Either that or leaving a shot or two untouched.

“Oh, I’ll give them to you,” he says, picking up one and examining it in the light. “One shot in exchange for one piece of information.”

“It doesn’t work that way. I bought those.”

“I don’t care.” Grinning, he nods to my hands. “Lick your wrist.”

“What?” I gasp.

“For the salt, prude.”

I narrow my eyes and hold his gaze as I swipe my tongue across the inside of my wrist before sprinkling the skin with salt. “Does this mean I get my shot?”

“In a second.”

I sigh. I could leave. There’s no one here forcing me to be subjected to this. I could go home and get drunk and not have to worry about Dean prying embarrassing secrets out of me. But drinking alone is depressing, and I don’t want to go home. I want to figure out how I’m going to use the next six weeks to become less awful at dating and, yes, at sex. I want to feel excited rather than terrified of a potential romantic relationship with Frankie. Maybe Dean will have some advice.

It’s probably stupid to try, because I am bad at sex, and nothing I can do in the next six weeks is likely to change that. If Frankie and I do end up in bed, that’ll be the end of it. It always is.

“When was the last time you had sex?” Dean asks.

My cheeks are on fire. “You did not just ask me that.”

“I did. Now answer.”

“Eighteen months ago,” I mumble.

His eyes go wide. “Excuse me?”

“Eighteen. Months. Ago.” I snatch the shot from his hand, lick the salt from my wrist, and toss back the tequila. I grimace at the burn as it goes down. “Jesus,” I sputter, reaching for a lime. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done that.”

“Not as long as it’s been since you’ve done something else,” Dean says, handing me a lime.

I glare. “Shut up.” I shove the lime into my mouth.

He chuckles. “God, you’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

I try to grab another shot, but he slides them out of my reach. “Vince is the tool?” I ask. “Really?”

He chuckles again. “Answer another question, and I’ll give you another shot. Easy-peasy.”

I glare at him then point to the shots. “Fine, but you’re paying for those.”

“No problem. So you haven’t had sex in a year and a half?”

“Is that your question?”

He considers this for a beat before shaking his head. “No. My question is . . .” He swallows, and his tongue touches his bottom lip in a way I’d find incredibly hot if this were anyone else. On Dean, I can only acknowledge it’s hot objectively speaking. “Did you like it?”

I look at my lap. I’m still in the black pants I wore to work today, and they’re tight around my too-thick thighs. I’m so embarrassed to be having this conversation with Dean. “It was okay,” I say without looking up.

He coughs. “Right.”

I snap my head up, ready to punch him if he’s mocking me. “What?”