Page 37 of Mexico Can Choke On It
The conviction in her voice floors me.What the hell can I say to that?
Then I feel it—the drugs kicking in, my body sinking deeper into the couch, muscles liquefying.
“I’m sorry to inconvenience you further,” I mumble, my words slurring, “but I think I need a nap… right here. Just a little.”
“Lightweight,” she teases, but her expression softens as she grabs a blanket from a nearby heap and lays it over me.
“I’ll be over there if you need me,” she says, pointing awkwardly toward her bed. “Normally I sleep naked, but I’ll keep the goods covered tonight. You’re welcome, Moneybags.”
My eyes betray me instantly, drifting to where her nipples press against the thin cotton of her T-shirt. I rest my head against the couch, my vision blurring.
After a good night’s rest, I’ll convince her to say yes.
For Gavin.
That’s why I’m here.
That’s the only reason.
CHAPTER FIVE
PETRA
GROUP CHAT : CPK FOREVER
Me:Quick Poll: On a scale of 1 to felony, how bad is accidentally tasing your brother’s business partner, drugging him, then maybe—just maybe—cuddling him a little while he’s unconscious?
Katie:PETRA! Please tell me you didn’t kidnap Bryce Sterling!
Me:Kidnap is such an ugly word. I prefer “non-consensual hangout.”
Cam:Girl, this sounds like the start of a Lifetime movie.
Me:He had the AUDACITY to ask me to help with Fiona’s wedding.
Cam:Oh HELL NO! Tase him again!
BRYCEMADE HIS ESCAPEwhile I was sleeping.
No surprise there. Bet he bolted the second his billionaire brain realized he’d been held hostage in this glorified shoebox with plumbing.
Sunlight sneaks through my “blinds”—aka the shower curtain I taped to the window(because real curtains are expensive).I stretch my back, and it cracks like a glow stick.
“Guess my hospitality skills didn’t impress,” I grumble, tossing off the blankets. “What? No mint on your pillow? No champagne brunch? Sorry to burst your bubble, Moneybags.”
I groan, dragging myself to my feet and ignoring the fact that every part of me is lowkey vibrating with his memory. Of him sleeping on my couch. Of his distinguished body crammed into my messy living room, looking wildly out of place and somehow… right.
No, it was wrong. Last night was a freak occurrence, an emotional blackout. Like drunk dialing your ex, but instead of a slurred voicemail, I kidnapped him. He’s gone back to his life. Reality check complete.
I shuffle into the kitchen.
“Honestly, what kind of love story starts with, ‘when I sorta combo-attacked his balls with an elbow and a taser—that’s when fate stepped in’?”I snort. “Yeah. That’s a fairy tale to tell the grandkids.”
Our worlds don’t even share the same laws of nature. He wears shoes worth more than everything I own, and I eat cereal with my hands because who has time to wash a spoon?
Plus, he’s engaged to Amanda “Probably Pisses Rosewater” Tenley.If word got out that he was even here, we’d be front-page news:
Billionaire Ditches Socialite Goddess for One Night with Bartender Gutter Rat!
