Page 11 of Damascus & The Wildfire
Don’t stress, I understand better than anyone.
Right. Don’t stress. I just threw myself at you last night like the club groupies Eva told me about—sweetbutts.Ugh.
One apology down, one to go. Might as well finish my tour before my coffee. Rip it like a Band-Aid.
Me:
Hey, sorry I overreacted last night.
Hope you’ll still be my friend after my little menty-b.
I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling. Maybe the shame and embarrassment would evaporate through my pores with the whiskey. My phone chirped as his response came through.
Hatchet:
Good morning, doll. Eva explained everything. Wanna grab brunch? I can swing by and pick you up in 30.
I smiled. His easy-going nature filled the hollow emptiness in my chest with warmth.
Me:
I would love that, but make it an hour. I smell like bad decisions.
Hatchet:
My favorite scent on a woman.
I dragged my aching body to the bathroom. While the water warmed, I studied myself in the mirror. God, I was a mess. I stared at my bloodshot eyes, smudged eyeliner, and tangled hair for a moment before pulling the shirt I’d worn yesterday over my head. I breathed in the scent of bonfire before dropping it to the floor and stepping under the spray.
I let the water scald my skin as I tried to scrub away the memory of Merrick’s gentle rejection. He’d done the right thing, but it didn’t make it any less mortifying.
I didn’t feel much better about how I’d left things with Hatchet. He couldn’t have known that the combination of his unexpected touch and the mention of Taylor Swift would rip a memory to the surface that gutted me. A tear slipped down my cheek as I pressed Alec from my mind into that box of feelings I couldn’t deal with.
I stepped out of the shower and sighed.
Standing before my closet, I sought the most aggressively platonic outfit I could find. High-rise black jeans, a faded Good Charlotte concert tee from high school, and battered running shoes. I swiped on mascara and slipped on my glasses, hoping to hide the circles under my eyes that left me looking like a delirious raccoon.
I heard a honk, and my phone pinged with a text that let meknow Hatchet waited outside. I threw my wet hair in a high ponytail and grabbed my purse before rushing out the door.
Hatchet leaned against the side of his truck, the morning sunlight catching on the sandy stubble along his jaw. His easy-going grin melted the tension in my shoulders.
Brunch with Hatchet might just be the hangover cure I needed.
Chapter Four
The women I picked up for dates usually strutted out to my truck with big hair, high heels, and enough tits and ass on display to make a preacher stare.
Kenna bounced down her front steps looking like the heroine at the start of every romcom—an unassuming beauty in basic clothes. Her red hair was pulled back, showing her high cheekbones and the flush on her freckled cheeks. She’d hidden her eyes behind glasses with dark-green frames.
I should’ve been bored. Instead, I was half hard and wondering what she looked like under the oversized T-shirt cinched at her waist in a knot.
I leaned against the passenger door as she approached. Her pink lips parted in surprise as I handed her a hot cinnamon vanilla latte—her favorite order from Maisie’s, according to Eva.
“Hey, doll. Thought you might need some caffeine.”
She took the cup and brought it to her nose, closing her eyes and breathing in the sweet scent. “You’re the best. I might survive today after all.”
I opened the door like the gentleman I wasn’t and jogged to theother side to get behind the wheel. I toggled to the Spotify app on the dash. “As agreed upon in our terms of this friendship, you get to pick the music. Anything you want.” I made a show of surrendering control.
