Page 3 of Denim & Diamonds

“Does he bite?”

“He sleeps in the bathtub because he’s afraid of his own shadow. I think you’re safe.”

“Great,” I mumbled.

I had one of those bladders that got overly excited once it saw a toilet, so I didn’t have time for any more small talk. I walked to the porcelain throne and peed while the giant dog stared.Fitting. I had a moose and deer watch me sleep.

Oh, and it turned out I actuallyhadpeed my pants a little. This morning just kept getting better and better. I slipped my thong off, flushed, and went to the sink to wash my hands. Looking up, I caught my reflection in the mirror.Oh God.I didn’t look much better than the poor mounted heads. My auburn hair was plastered to one side of my face with what might be drool, puffy green eyes were streaked with red lines from not taking out my daily wears, and dark raccoon circles rimmed underneath. I washed up and did my best to fix my hair and face, but there wasn’t much that could make this hangover look any better than it felt.

At least when I opened the bathroom door, the smell of fresh coffee wafted through the air. I found Lumberjack in the kitchen—which technically was also the bedroom and living room in his studio apartment. His back was to me, so I took a moment to appreciate the view. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, and what looked like a pretty muscular ass under those boxer briefs. He was tall—super tall, actually, maybe a foot bigger than my five foot four. Definitely not my normal type. I tended to go for a runner’s body—lean and trim, whereas this guy could best be described asburly.

Without turning around, he pointed to the counter next to him. “Coffee’s there. And I figured you could use some Motrin.”

“God, yes. Thank you.” I walked over and lifted the steaming mug. “You wouldn’t happen to have any creamer, would you?”

“Definitely not.”

“Milk?”

“Nope.”

“So I guess dairy-free cashew creamer blended with oat milk is out of the question?”

He looked over at me, frowned, and went back to what he was doing without saying a word.

I brought the mug to my lips. “Okay then…”

Lumberjack poured a second coffee in silence while I swallowed two Motrin with scalding black coffee. When he was done, he leaned a hip against the counter and looked at me.

“How many vodkas did I drink last night?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Three maybe?”

“The bar had dark paneling, right?”

“Yep.”

I attempted to fit together the bits and pieces of things I could remember. “And a jukebox? I remember putting on Taylor Swift. But then it broke, I think?”

Lumberjack smirked. “I have a secret kill switch behind the bar that cuts the power. Usually have to use it at two AM when drunk fifty-year-olds put on Billy Joel and sing along. I cut you off the third time you played ‘Shake It Off’.”

“Not a Swiftie?”

“Don’t mind her. But I didn’t like the way some of my patrons were looking at you while you were dancing.”

“How exactly were they looking at me?”

He tipped back his mug and drank. “You probably shouldn’t go out by yourself and get hammered.”

“Why? Because I’m a woman?”

“Because you’re a fucking lightweight. And the wrong person could’ve taken you home.”

I sighed. He had a point. I didn’t know this guy from Adam, but I didn’t feel unsafe here with him. “You’re right. Thank you for taking care of me.”

He nodded once.

“It’s just been a really bad week.” I shook my head. “A really badfew months, actually.”

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