Drunk on You Page 7

  “That’s gonna leave a mark,” she said and reached to stroke his skin.

  For the moment, adrenaline took the edge off the pain when he sucked in a breath at her tender touch, but tomorrow was going to suck.

  “Are your ribs broken?”

  “I don’t think so, just bruised.” He hoped.

  Smoke poured from the upper window of the rickhouse now. He didn’t know if the whole place would go up in flames, but it was going to be a mess, and there was nothing they could do now but wait for the fire department. The walls were brick, but the racks inside were wooden.

  Allie looked behind her, where Justin stared, then back at him. “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry?”

  “For, uh, starting that fire.”

  “I was the drunk in the barn. I shouldn’t have had that shitty lamp on anywhere near alcohol.” Good. Remind them both, early and often, that it was a mistake. Unfortunately, it was a major screwup. “Fuck. I’m never going to get away from this place, am I? I’m going to spend the rest of my life paying for this.”

  Her expression softened. Putting a hand on either side of his face, she pulled his attention to her. “It’s okay. It’s insured. But dammit, Justin, if you die, who am I gonna make a fool of myself over?”

  And she kissed him again. Pressed her smoky, sooty lips to his, and kissed the ever-loving hell right out of him. He felt her tongue brush his lips, and after a moment, he opened his mouth to her. He chased her tongue with his own, licking at her mouth, biting her fat bottom lip. His arms went around her, pulling her soft body against his hard, miserable self.

  He probably would have laid her on the seat and started ripping at her clothes if a loud crash hadn’t interrupted them. They jerked apart, staring at each other for a moment, before turning to see the south wall of the rickhouse collapse inward.

  “Oh, shit.” Allie held on to his hand, and he didn’t pull away like he knew he should. He’d fucked up, big-time, and he needed to stand up and deal with what he’d done. After a moment that lasted too long, at least for a mistake that wasn’t going to happen again, Justin pulled his hand out of her grasp.

  …

  The fire department arrived, and the chief himself came. EMTs checked out Allie’s breathing, Justin’s breathing, Justin’s leg, his chest, and a long scratch Allie’d managed to gouge into her upper arm. Once she knew it was there, it hurt like a bitch, but until that point, she hadn’t been aware of it.

  All she could think about was the feel of Justin’s lips against hers, his hand, tentatively on her waist and then sliding more confidently around her, pulling her against him.

  She looked at him now, hours later, silhouetted against the floodlights that had been erected to spotlight the burned building so the firemen could check for hot spots. He hunched over his crutch, barely holding himself upright as he spoke with Sheriff Baker. But he wouldn’t sit down, not even on the front seat of the golf cart, until the first responders were gone.

  Her phone vibrated against her leg and she pulled it from her pocket. Finally. The insurance agent was returning her call.

  “How much damage?” he asked, after the preliminary “is everyone okay?” stuff was out of the way.

  “We won’t know for sure until the contractor comes by in the morning, but one of the walls partially collapsed, and they’re definitely going to have to rebuild a big part of the interior.”

  It was quiet on the other end.

  “We’re covered, though, right?”

  The agent coughed. “It’s complicated. I should probably speak with your mother or Justin’s dad about this, as they were involved in purchasing the rider to the regular policy for the—”

  “Are we covered or not?” Allie ground out. Jesus, even the damned insurance agent treated her like she was twelve.

  A wave of warmth surrounded her as Justin neared, his body blocking the chilly spring wind.

  “You’re covered,” the agent finally said. “But you’ve got a significant deductible.”

  When he told her the amount, Allie was more grateful than ever that Justin was nearby, because she needed to grab his crutch to keep from collapsing.

  After promising to have the contractor call him, Allie said good-bye and hung up.

  “How bad?” he asked. “How much is the deductible?”

  “Almost as much as I have set aside to launch Rainbow Dog.”

  “No.”

  “Yep.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Yep.”

  “I’m going to have to sell a kidney. And a testicle.”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “I don’t have any money. I, uh, donated—”

  “I know.” She waved him off. “That was really…cool.” Leaving the feasibility of testicular transplants alone for the moment, she said, “It was mostly my mistake. I’ll put on my big-girl panties and deal with it.”

  One corner of his mouth almost twitched. But then he said, “No, we were both in that warehouse, and we both know we’re not supposed to be in there, uh, screwing around. I can find my Captain America Underoos, too.”

  She let him off the hook by not pointing out that they hadn’t gotten to the screwing-around stage, but his point was made. They needed to fix this without going to their families for help. “I told you. I’ve got the money.”

  “And this isn’t just your problem.”

  Allie chewed her bottom lip. “I have an idea.” She told him.

  Justin looked at her sideways. “I’m afraid to ask.”

  She grinned. “You’re going to have to get your social butterfly personality back out and dust it off,” she told him. “We’re going on a road trip.”

  “Ah, hell,” he said, finally sitting down.

  Chapter Eight

  The morning shone bright and happy through his parents’ kitchen without a single sympathy cloud for Justin and his messed-up life. And, yes¸ all of the problems of yesterday could be laid solely at his feet. Contrary to whatever Allie wanted to suggest.

  He’d let his grief, his misery, and ultimately, his inability to keep his hands off of her endanger the entire Blue Mountain legacy. It could be worse than it was; it could be much worse…he could have blown up Rickhouse Number One—and a lifetime’s worth of bourbon—or someone could have died. But still, he’d been drunk, he’d been sloppy, and he’d fucked up. And he didn’t give a shit about the place for himself—he’d always been about rebellion and avoiding getting stuck here—but the people he cared about still loved it, so it mattered.

  And he was supposed to be watching out for Allie, not groping her every chance he got. The fire was clearly Dave warning him to keep his dick in his pants around her.

  Allie, whom he’d sworn to protect, to honor her dead brother’s wish to “look out for her—her heart is too big to stay away from idiots,” when he knew all along that he was the idiot she needed protection from.

  Because, damn. Her body called to his 24-7. And it wasn’t just her body. Her quick wit and sense of humor brought him back from the brink of self-pity almost as often as he crept out on the edge.

  Fuck. He had to stay away from her. But how was he going to keep his distance when she’d decided that they were going to spend the next two weeks working together, and then travel together—in his parents’ motor home no less—halfway across the country to sell Rainbow Dog whiskey?

  She sat across the kitchen table from him now, laying out a plan that would get Rickhouse Two on the road to recovery before anyone knew what hit it—and get her business off the ground at the same time.

  “Okay. Here’s the deal,” she said, pushing a mug of steaming black coffee his way, then sitting down with a pad of paper. “My first plan was to show the old folks what a great idea Rainbow Dog is, and the Blue Mountain board would decide to let me make it an official brand of the distillery.”

  “They didn’t go for that one, I’m guessing.”

  “Didn’t even make it out of the starting ga
te. Option two. Use my savings to start the business.”

  “You have that much?” He was surprised. That was a lot of jack.

  “I’ve got some money. Insurance payout stuff,” she said, not looking at him.

  Right. Her dad had left her and Eve some money.

  “And that’s what we’re going to use for the deductible?”

  “Yep. I’m gonna lend you half—with interest”—she passed him a sheet of paper with some numbers on it—“and you’re going to pay me back when you get to the land of firefighting helicopter divers.”

  “Smoke jumpers.” He sat back. She’d really thought this through. Except… “So what money are you going to use to start up Rainbow Dog?”

  “That’s where our road trip comes in. After you sell me some of the Dangerous Dave white dog”—she gave him a meaningful stare—“we’ll make some sample product. I’ve been on the internet this morning booking us meetings all the way from here to Atlanta. We’re going to find an investor. Someone who will be a silent partner and provide the capital—with a healthy rate of return—on an up-and-coming business venture.”

  “You got any candidates?” Justin asked.

  “A few ideas, but nothing firm. I think if we can prove there’s some interest in the product from vendors—and drinkers—we have a shot with some of the bigwigs who’ll be in Georgia.”

  “And what if that doesn’t work?”

  She waved him off. “There’s always plan C. Or D. Whatever. It’ll be fine.”

  Justin thought about it for a minute. He had the authority to sell her the white dog, because even though he didn’t want to be, he was on the Dangerous Dave brand paperwork. So that would be free and clear of the Blue Mountain label. Dad would be annoyed, but he couldn’t…arrest him, or anything. So getting the product together was no problem. They had enough money left over from the deductible for that. The rest of it? He wasn’t sure. He wished he had her confidence. What would happen if she didn’t get the silent partner to invest? She’d probably just shrug and say it would take longer than she expected and act like she didn’t care.

  He made a decision though, there and then. No fucking way was he going to let her sacrifice her dream. He could call his dad now, throw himself on the man’s mercy, and pledge to always work for Blue Mountain if his dad would cover his debt, and maybe somehow convince him to back Rainbow Dog. As if Clyde had ever thought any of Justin’s ideas were worth a dime.

  Or he could help Allie with her plan. Give her a chance to prove she could pull this off. Do something that would make Dave proud of him, and piss his father right the hell off.

  He’d do this because he’d promised Dave he’d help her, but also because his honor—such as it was—wouldn’t let him take her money to pay for the deductible. And if her plan worked, then his own plan B—go to his father with his hat in his hand—would never have to see the light of day.

  “Okay, when do we leave?” he asked.

  “Really? Okay?” Her big green eyes searched his, looking for a “but” that he didn’t offer.

  “Why not?” His brain was already working ahead, wondering if he knew anyone who might have the investment capital for something like this. Someone who would appreciate the idea and be willing to take a chance.

  “Wow. I guess…if we leave in a few days, that will give us time to get some preliminary things done here, like bottle up that next batch of white dog that’s due to come off the mash tomorrow, and get all of our paperwork together, that sort of thing.” She stood and tugged at the legs of her jeans, which had bunched into the crease between thigh and—

  Justin groaned.

  “Are you okay? I bet you’re sore today, aren’t you?” Allie’s eyes were on him, the green flecked with gold this morning.

  “I’m fine.” But he wasn’t. He’d lain awake all night, replaying his idiocy, beating himself with his own stupidity. Sober, too, after his failed toast to his dead friend. Staying dry might seem like a good idea on the surface, if he had any hope of making decent decisions, but he’d never been one for good choices. At least if he was drunk, he wouldn’t hate himself so much for fucking up.

  Well, he’d hate himself anyway, but he’d still abstain.

  “Can I have some more coffee?” he asked. He hated that he had to ask her to do so much for him. Then thought of asking her to do more. Or better yet, her asking him for more…

  “Here you go,” she said, thunking the stoneware mug on the table in front of him, bringing her scent along, confusing his senses. She pushed the sugar bowl over. “What are you smiling about?”

  “Huh? I was smiling?”

  “Yeah.” She sat back down, chin on hand, staring at him. “What were you thinking about? I need some good news.”

  I was thinking about what a smart, beautiful woman you’ve turned out to be, and how much I’m going to enjoy spending the next couple of weeks with you. “I was thinking about how small that motor home is, and how much I hope you don’t mind that I’m bringing Tiffany and Buffy.”

  She threw a roll of paper towels at his head.

  …

  “Here.” Allie dropped a shopping bag onto Justin’s stomach. “Get dressed. We’re going out.”

  “What?” He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His shaggy hair was charmingly smushed on one side, and she shook her head to dislodge the image of long weekend naps followed by long weekend sex. The bag fell to the floor, spilling a bright green sweatshirt onto the braided rug. “What is this?”

  “It’s a Crockett County High sweatshirt,” she said. “What else on God’s green earth comes in that color?”

  Justin held the shirt up. “You gave this to me because…?”

  “Because we’re going to the Crockett Rockett Alumni Fund-Raiser tonight.”

  “Why would we want to do that? I graduated from that school. I paid my dues.”

  “Hence the term ‘alumni.’ And Blue Mountain might be the biggest taxpayer in the county, but it makes sense to show a little more goodwill to the neighborhood and support the construction of the new gym. And we have a product to promote.”

  She started to unload the bags of supplies she’d picked up at the craft store.

  “What’s all that?”

  “Our contribution to the silent auction.”

  “We’re auctioning off shredded paper and plastic wrap?”

  “Yes. And just so it doesn’t look stupid, I’m going to throw in a few jars of Rainbow Dog.”

  “Ah. Good thinking. Although I bet that shredded paper shit brings in the bids all on its own.”

  She sprinkled a handful over his head. “Just go get dressed. Please?”

  “Fine,” he said. “But I’m not changing my socks. I need some armor against the hordes of perimenopausal female alums. Those little gals can wear a boy out.”

  She hefted a jar this time, but he disappeared before she could decide whether chucking it at him would be worth the time spent sweeping up the mess.

  Chapter Nine

  “Dude, that’s Justin Morgan. He was the quarterback who took the Rocketts to state in the early ’00s.” For a moment, Justin thought the discussion he was overhearing centered on some other Justin Morgan. He barely remembered the one who’d played football at Crockett County High School.

  “Dude. We should get him to come to spring practice. He looks like he could still throw pretty far.”

  “I don’t know. When they get that old, they start having to get their shoulders replaced and shit.”

  He slowed his steps, scanning the crowd rumbling with conversation that had him disoriented. Allie turned and smiled encouragingly at him. Did she recognize that he had morphed into something that didn’t belong in this environment? He took a breath and squared his shoulders. He could stand it for a couple of hours.

  “That sucks. I bet getting all that metal in your shoulder sets off all kinds of metal detectors.”

  He didn’t correct their assumptions that he had age-related bioni
c parts.

  “That chick he’s with is pretty hot.”

  Justin glared at the speakers, who were much younger versions of himself, wearing Rocketts football jerseys and serving hors d’oeuvres to the guests.

  He shot Allie a look to see if she heard, but she had her head bent to listen to a little old lady with purple-tinged curls. She tucked a strand of hair behind one ear, exposing her long, lovely neck to his view. Much more appealing than remembering that he wasn’t from here anymore.

  He tried to look away, but was arrested at her backside, made that much more delicious when she straightened, arching her back a little.

  “It’s so nice to see you, Mrs. Hatchet. I can’t believe you retired! Surely you have another fifteen or twenty years to go before you’re old enough to collect your pension.”

  Mrs. Hatchet, who was ninety if she was a day, slapped her on the arm. “Smart-ass. I should give you detention.” She turned her eagle eye on Justin. “You. Aren’t you one of those Morgan boys? You must be the bad one.”

  “I probably am, ma’am.”

  “Of course you are. If you were the good one, you’d be wearing a suit and tie.”

  “I probably would, ma’am.” He looked around at the rest of the guests, who, like him, were dressed casually in Crocket County High spirit wear and jeans. A few wore khakis and golf shirts, but most everyone else dressed down. Way down. Brandon probably would wear a tie to this and not look out of place.

  They bid good-bye to Mrs. Hatchet, and Justin nodded to someone across the room who waved at him. “Who’s that?” he asked Allie and caught her scent. Again. Why had she put that perfume on from the other night for this? It wasn’t a fancy party. He didn’t need to smell how sexy she was, to remember her pressed up against him—

  “Eric Washburn.”

  “No shit?” He tried not to stare. He saw a little of his old friend in the overweight, bald man in the stretched-tight T-shirt, but it was a challenge.

  She put her hand on his arm, slender fingers cool against his too-tight skin. “Why don’t you go say hello? I’m going to look and see if anyone’s bid on our basket yet.”