Page 49 of Single-Minded
“Mmm.”
I couldn’t help myself. I took one last look at her, then bent over and pressed a quick kiss to her forehead.
Then I hurried out of her room, made sure all her doors were locked, and got the hell out of her house.
Chapter Thirteen
Presley
Whoever said alcohol makes you sleep better was full of crap.
Granted, there were the first couple of hours after I landed in bed when I slept like the dead. I’d woken up a little after two in the morning, sweating and nauseated. I’d gotten up, thrown up everything in my stomach, felt relatively better afterward, then tossed, turned, and sweated liquor all night.
I reached for my nightstand and turned off the alarm I’d somehow remembered to set at some point in the night. West and I were starting work at the shop at eight this morning, and I wasn’t going to miss it.
“You got this,” I tried to convince myself.
I wasn’t in the habit of drinking myself stupid. Wine was a regular part of my life, but I could count on one hand the number of times I’d gotten so drunk.
“Might as well wait until you’re lusting after your contractor, then be sure to drink yourself out of control when he’s nearby,” I muttered as I rolled to my back amid tangles of comforter and sheet. “Oh, and strip off all your clothes while you’re at it. Idiot.”
I remembered everything from last night. The way I’d been having so much fun, dancing, meeting people, answering questions about The Bean Counter. To my surprise, I hadn’t felt at all like an outsider but more like this town was welcoming me. Maybe because I’d be bringing them coffee, but that was okay.
Then when I was dancing with Ty, the basketball coach, the light, flying-high feeling had turned to spinning, dizziness, and a cold sweat.
I’d hoped a few minutes of fresh air would help, but instead I’d needed to be carried up the damn stairs.
As embarrassing as that was, I could also remember how safe and cared for I’d felt in West’s arms. Those were foreign sensations for me. Normally I took care of myself.
I groaned at that moment of weakness, then sat up in bed, taking inventory.
Nausea gone. Head pounding like nobody’s business.
One out of two wasn’t bad.
Tylenol, coffee, and donuts. Those would get me through what promised to be a day of hellacious physical labor. I wasn’t going to slack off though. We’d laid out a timeline, and there was no room for hungover laziness. I couldn’t wait for opening day, but the only way to get there was, well, drywalling today, to be exact.
I rolled out of bed and stripped the sheets that smelled like a drunk girl, then tossed them in the hall to wash as soon as I showered.
While the shower heated, I popped some Tylenol and guzzled a bottle of cold water. Let the rehydrating begin. Then I set my coffee machine to brew an extra-large travel mug of a Costa Rican roast I was sampling for the shop.
I scrubbed the alcohol-heavy sweat off my skin, washed my hair, and felt halfway human by the time I stepped out of the shower. I had twenty minutes till I needed to be at the shop, and though West had a key, I didn’t intend to be late.
In record time, I started the bedding in the washing machine and made the bed up fresh with clean sheets, knowing I’d be too tired when I got home tonight. I threw on soft, comfortable cotton shorts, a plain tank, and an unbuttoned chambray shirt with sneakers, and pulled my wet hair into a loose ponytail at my nape.
On the way, I made a quick stop at Sugar for a dozen donuts, intending to shove at least two down my throat in the next few minutes.
I parked in the lot behind the gym and hurried down the sidewalk to my shop, my headache milder but still there with every step. When I got closer, I spotted West inside, already working. As much as I’d wanted to beat him here, I couldn’t deny the thrill that spiked through me at the sight of him. I hadn’t scared him off completely last night then.
“Morning,” I called out as I entered.
West was in the office area, which was framed, with electric and plumbing lines run, waiting to be closed in with drywall today. He set down a large sheet of drywall, turned around, and watched me approach, his brows up.
“Hi?” I said as I went through the doorway to the office, suddenly wondering if we weren’t okay after my dumb moves last night.
A smile slowly crossed his face as he looked me over. Then he shook his head. “Didn’t figure I’d see you until noon at the earliest.”
“You said eight.” I looked at the time on my phone. “It’s three minutes after. I would’ve been on time if there wasn’t someone in front of me at the bakery.”
