Page 39 of Captive of Outlaws

“Sorry.” Will swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he throws a sidelong glance at Rob. “Didn’t mean to offend.” He pauses. “But God, it’s a wonder you manage to sit comfortably with a stick so far up your ass.”

Tuck snorts with laughter, until Rob glares at him, and Tuck hangs his head.

“Aw, c’mon, Rob,” Tuck says. “We were all kinda thinking it. And she started—”

“That’s it,” Rob says loudly. He stands, and offers me a hand. “Time for bed.”

“What?” Will groans. “Relax, Rob, we were just having some—”

“I said we’re calling it a night. She’s had too much to drink, anyway.”

“Hey!” I cry, but when I try to get to my feet and starehim down, the wobbling in my knees proves him right. I run my tongue over my teeth, tucking hair behind my ear, and glare at him. “Okay. Maybe.” I feel petulant, misbehaving, like a rebellious teenager. My mind is swirling with stupid thoughts. “You’re right. I’m a bad girl,” I admit. “A bad, bad—”

“You see?” Rob says, tightening his grip around my waist. “It’s all been too much for her. Maren,” he instructs me. “Go to bed.” He looks at the others. “You two help her upstairs.”

I scowl, thinking I’m being cute and playful. “But—”

“But nothing,” Rob says. “Now.”

I pout, but teeter my way to the door, where I almost run into—

“LJ,” I breathe. Great. Just who I wanted to see.

Not that I can see more of him than his chest, anyway.

He ignores me and brushes past me to Rob.

“This is a mess,” he mutters, probably thinking I can’t overhear.

“Relax,” Rob answers, also barely audible. “It’s only temporary, remember?”

Chapter Eleven

OH, MY HEAD.

Fuck.

I squint into the swirl of my bedroom, the morning light slicing inwaytoo bright andwaytoo...morning-y.

Blinking, I push myself to seated against the giant pillows and rub my forehead. The clock across the room reads 10:45 a.m., and I groan.

Images of last night come back to me in fits and starts. Back from clothes shopping, Will and Tuck on the back porch having drinks, dinner, wine, wine, and more wine...

I once made out with two guys in the same night.

I’m a bad, bad girl.

“Oh, Christ,” I mutter, and flop face-down into my pillow. I can’t believe I actually said that. I can’t believe I thought that wascute.What the fuck is my problem? I literally do not know these guys that well. But two glasses of fancy French red whatever-the-fuck and it’s cheap date city for Maren, I guess.

That’s the other thing. I may not actually be mentally incompetent, or however Uncle John is trying to spin it, but I’m definitely supposed to take it easy on the alcohol. Dr. Shanahan wouldn’t be pleased to know that I’d been pounding wine like a sorority girl. He’d probably give me some lecture about my synapses and electrical impulses and...whatever.

I don’t know how long I’ve had my face smashed into the feathery softness of the pillow when I hear a knock at my door.

“Maren?”

I can’t tell whose voice it is. Only that it’s not LJ’s, I don’t think.

“I have coffee,” the voice adds.

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