Page 37 of Heartland
And the worst part? Even though I’m so mad right now—no, I’mcrushedthat he found a stranger to (almost) take to bed, and he’s a freaking wreck, with messy hair and probably crusty eyes and bad breath—I still ache for him.
He’s so beautiful to me that it hurts to look at him.
So I don’t. I turn around and get the heck out of there.
Twelve
Dylan
When I walkdown the stairs and into the kitchen, I think I’m dying. If not of my hangover, then I’m dying of embarrassment.
Chastity’s face is a storm cloud when she whirls around to face me. “I made coffee.”
My stomach lurches at the thought of coffee.
“And…” She opens the door to the microwave. There’s a bag of popcorn in there, all popped and ready to go.
The smell of carbs and fake butter wafts across the kitchen. “I could kiss you right now,” I say, and then think better of it. “Not that you’d want to kiss an asshole like me.”
She turns away, sparing me the look of revulsion that’s probably on her face. “Can you drive?” she asks in a clipped voice.
“Yeah.” I don’t feel drunk, just gruesome. I grab the popcorn bag and open the top, letting the steam out. Then I pour it into one of Rickie’s plastic mixing bowls. “I need—”
Chastity is already ripping paper towels off the roll, anticipating my every need. “I also made you a water bottle. Do you have a travel mug for the coffee?” She spots it even before she finishes the sentence. “Get your violin, Dylan. We have to get out of here.”
Moments later, I allow myself to be herded toward the door. The fiddle goes on the back seat, and Chastity arranges various beverages in the cup holders while I warm up the engine and shove popcorn into my mouth. My wet hair is dripping on my collar, but at least I’m clean and combed.
We don't speak for the first few miles. I feel squinty and half asleep. And so, so embarrassed. That girl in my bed? I don't remember her name. That's a new low for me. I like to party, and I like my hookups. But I’m notthatbig of an asshole—the kind who doesn’t bother with names.
If Chastity hadn’t been standing there, I would have apologized profusely to Pink Panties for my failure to put out. But I couldn’t take the chance that she’d lash out with any more of last night’s details.
The last thing I remember was Pink Panties leaning over me in bed, taking my cock into her mouth.
At that, I let out a groan. Because I can't believe I fell asleep in the middle of a perfectly good blowjob. What kind of loser does that?
“Do you feel sick?” Chastity asks me quietly.
“No, just embarrassed.”
She's quiet for a second, and I imagine her judging me. But then I feel a tremor of laughter coming from the other side of the bench seat. She actually giggles and claps a hand over her mouth.
“What's so funny?” I ask as I accelerate past a hay truck.
“You,” she gasps. “You actually jumped.”
“What? Jumped where?”
“When I woke you up? And the girl started speaking? You startled like Jacquie when she sees a squirrel.”
“Oh, hell no, I didnot,” I lie. Because goats are particularly funny when they’re startled. And I'm a vain motherfucker sometimes.
“You totally did,” she laughs. “Should we call her and ask her?”
“Oh, stop,” I say, and I find myself smiling for the first time in days. I take a handful of popcorn from the bowl between us. “So I might have forgotten she was over there. Don’t rub it in, okay? My reputation is probably gonna take a hit as it is.”
“Poor baby,” Chastity hiccups. “The long line of girls waiting for a turn in your bed is going to be whittled down to a manageable number.”
I laugh, but the comment startles me. Chastity doesn't usually go there. She doesn't talk about my sexual exploits, although I shouldn’t be too surprised that she’s noticed them.
