Page 78 of Moonshine Kiss
“Where did you sleep?” I demanded.
“On the couch.”
I flopped back down on the pillow and reached blindly for the aspirin.
“You don’t need to look so relieved about it,” he teased.
“I’m mad at you,” I told him.
“So we’re back to that?” He took the aspirin from me, thumbed open the bottle, and dumped the caplets in my hand. Efficiently, he opened the sports drink for me and handed it over.
“Backto that? I never stopped being mad at you!”
“Last night you asked me to kiss you again because you really, really like it when I do that.”
I was definitely going to throw up. The memory burbled to the surface. Yep. Jail cell. Misty Lynn’s hair extensions. Bowie backing me up against a wall and being sweet.
I swore.
He stroked a hand over my hair, and I didn’t care for how much I liked it.
“Why am I in your clothes?”
“Well, you came in here after Bubba released y’all and told Jonah to make you pancakes. Then you took your clothes off on the stairs and helped yourself to my closet.”
This was why I never let Drunk Cassidy out to play. She was a dumbass.
“You took advantage of me while I was drunk!”
“I did no such thing, Cassidy Ann,” he shot back, appalled at the idea.
I rolled my eyes and then felt like I was going to puke.Note to self: Don’t roll eyes while hungover.
“I mean, you let me be nice to you when I was drunk. Even though I’m clearly still furious with you!”
He crossed his arms and smiled at me like I was making a fool out of myself.
“Are you mad at me or Drunk Cassidy?” he asked.
“Both!”
He laughed.
“What happened last night and how do I still have a job?” I asked, closing my eyes. I pulled the hood of the sweatshirt up over my head, tying the strings real tight to block out the morning light.
“Well, apparently, y’all got into some kind of confrontation with Misty Lynn and her sidekicks. Bartender called the station and Bubba responded. With the help of a patron with a minivan, he drove you all back. He didn’t think the sheriff would take kindly to him arresting his wife and two daughters. And as it turns out, Misty Lynn has one more drunk and disorderly left on her rap sheet before she looks at a weekend in jail. So we fixed it so no one got in any official trouble.”
“You brokered a truce?”
I vaguely remembered Devlin and Bowie making me shake Misty Lynn’s stupid hand that had probably touched sixty percent of the penises in town.
“Dev paid off the bartender to cover the damages and the tabs. No charges were pressed, and y’all went home.”
“Except I came here.”
“Yep.”
“Oh, shit! The cats. I have to feed them.” I sat upright and immediately regretted it.
