Co-WRECKER

  Sensing my hesitation, he says, “Think about it. You don’t have to give me an answer right now.” I nod, looking down at the ground. He lifts my chin and forces me to look him in the eye. “Just answer me one thing. Do you like him?”

  Do I like Andrew? Jeeze, I would rather answer the date question than that. Instead of skirting around the truth, I say, “I don’t know how I feel about Andrew.” The truth pains me a little because I’ve been denying his ability to penetrate my walls. Faced with these thoughts, it’s clear my desperate attempt to keep both my heart safe and my little world contained is slowly failing. Andrew is working his way in.

  Nodding, Tucker pulls me into a hug and kisses the top of my head and then chuckles. “Don’t let the dance moves sway you. They’re flashy.”

  I push away from him and start laughing. “Please, I’m not that easily swayed.”

  Spinning on the spot, he does his own little move and then smiles at me. “I beg to differ. Uncle Tony’s Halloween, 2015. One of the best nights of sex we ever had.”

  Groaning, I walk away, trying not to recall that night. Before I can get out of earshot, Tucker calls out, “Be careful, Sadie, and remember, I’m still looking for an answer.”

  Relentless.

  Andrew is now resting against the deck fence when I approach him, a beer in his hand and a cheesy smile on his face.

  With my arms crossed over my chest, I ask, “How did you get here?”

  “Is that a way to greet someone properly who just whipped you around the dance floor?”

  I hide the smile that wants to peek past my lips. “Did you drive?”

  Pushing off the fence, he closes the space between us, seeming a lot more confident than usual. It has to be the beer. “Why do you ask? You want to go home with me?”

  Yup, it’s the beer.

  “No, it’s time you say goodnight to your friends and get going.”

  “Kicking me out of the party?” He drains the rest of his beer and tosses the bottle in the recycling container a few feet away. Impressive. “I hope you plan on driving me.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his keys. “Because I don’t drink and drive.”

  Still smart when drunk, can’t help but like that about a guy. Snagging the keys from his hand, I start walking toward the cars. “Which one is yours?”

  “The white Ford Ranger.” He follows closely behind me and stretches his arm over my shoulders. “Thanks, sugar britches.” Sugar britches?

  “Don’t call me that,” I say, making our way to his truck. Why do I feel like this has mistake written all over it?

  ***

  Yup, this was a mistake.

  In the passenger side of Andrew’s truck, is the man of the hour, passed out, his glasses askew and mouth wide open. He fell asleep once I pulled out of the driveway, giving me no other option but to drive him back to my place since I have absolutely zero idea where he lives.

  Now I’m parked in the carport, wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do. Do I leave him in his truck, maybe crack a window for him, and hope no one tries to steal him in the middle of the night? Or do I take him back into my apartment where we have two recliners and two beds? One being mine, the other being Smilly’s?

  A part of me wants to toss him the keys and say good night but the other part of me, the nice part of me, knows what I have to do. Looking to the sky, I take a deep breath and exit the vehicle, rounding the hood to his side. This was not how I planned to spend my night.

  Opening the door, I try to decide how to wake him up. Poking him seems like the right thing to do. So, I poke him in the shoulder a few times. Nothing.

  Okay, I poke his side this time, stiffening my finger so hopefully it feels like a branch coming after him.

  Nothing.

  Getting a little irritated now, I place both my hands on his shoulders and shake him, hoping he’s a heavy sleeper and not needing medical attention.

  Nothing.

  “Oh come on,” I huff in frustration. “Hello?” I tap his head, not sure what else to do.

  Slowly, at a snail’s pace, a smile starts to play on his lips as he turns his head toward me. His eyes laze, he looks at me and says in a worn-out voice, “Your bedside manner could use a little work.”

  “Oh my God, were you awake this entire time?”

  Shifting out of the car, he says, “No. I woke up with the first jab you gave me from that bō staff you call a finger.” Taking a look around, he asks, “Where are we?”

  “My place.”

  He raises a single brow at me and from that little movement, my insides flutter again.

  “Your place, huh? Well, you move fast.”

  “You passed out before I could get your house address. Just be thankful I didn’t steal your car and leave you on the side of a road.” I walk up to my apartment, unlock the door, and let myself in, Andrew following close behind.

  “Leaving me on the side of the road might have been fun. Kind of a Where’s Waldo drunk edition.”

  “Uh, no, more like Survivor drunk edition.”

  I shut the door behind Andrew and lock up. When I turn around, he’s already searching the place. “Where’s the bedroom?”

  Um . . .

  “I’m not sleeping with you.”

  “Wasn’t asking to, sugar britches. I want to go to the bathroom and go to bed.”

  “Just so you know, you’re not sleeping in my bed, but the bathroom is around the corner.”

  He slightly stumbles toward the bathroom and shuts the door. Trying to calm myself—my hormones are jumping everywhere—I head to my little dresser, pull out a pair of shorts and a tank, and wait for my turn in the bathroom.

  For a guy who doesn’t have any of his nighttime items, he’s taking quite a long time in there. Sitting cross-legged on my bed, I wonder what he could possibly be doing.

  Oh God, did he pass out on the toilet? Willy out? What’s a girl to do if that’s the case? Do I tuck it back into his pants and push him to the side? No one wants to tuck a flaccid wiener back into underpants, especially foreign flaccid wieners.

  Chewing on my lip, wondering if I should go knock on the door, I bounce my foot up and down. I need to pee. If he’s passed out on the toilet, I might just have to knock him to the side because I’m not going to be able to hold this all night, nor am I one to go squat it out in the bushes. Smilly, now she just might conduct such a pee with nature, but not me. I need porcelain to sit on.

  “Oh come on,” I mutter, now standing from my bed and heading to the bathroom where I pace in front of the door. Leaning my head closer, I hear water running so that has to be a good sign. Then the unmistakable sound of someone spitting into the sink. Is he . . . brushing his teeth?

  I’m about to knock on the door when Andrew opens it, shirtless, pants-less, wearing nothing but his glasses and black boxer briefs. He’s wiping his mouth with the hand towel that rests next to the sink when he makes eye contact with me. That damn smile greets me but it’s not what holds my attention. Oh. No. My eyes go for a wander down his body. I take in the very cut man, with beautiful muscles flexing under the dim light of my bathroom.

  Oh.

  My.

  God.

  Andrew, champion forearms, Mr. Sunshine, dork with the hot glasses, boy who won’t quite leave me alone at work, he’s . . . oh God, he’s everything under his clothes.

  “If I wasn’t about to pass out from exhaustion, I would say something witty about you staring at my body, but I’m just too tired right now.” He drapes the towel back on the rack, gathers his clothes, and stops before he walks past me. With a smirk, he says, “Thanks for letting me borrow your toothbrush, I just hate beer breath.”

  Before I can respond, he’s shutting the bathroom door, leaving me looking flushed and angry at the same time. For some reason, I can’t get myself to be mad about him using my toothbrush, not after the sight he just gave me.

  Damn him.

  Damn him and his stupid hot-nerd appeal.

&
nbsp; Going through the motions, I get ready for bed, debating if I should use my toothbrush or not but in the end, the brush wins out because I agree with Andrew, beer breath is the worst. Finishing up, I take one last look in the mirror and brush my hair out before exiting the bathroom.

  When I turn the corner to the bedroom, I’m hit with another unexpected image. Andrew, in my bed, the only bed that has bedding on it—Smilly must be doing laundry—completely passed out, his glasses on the side table.

  Fucking great.

  Sagging my shoulders, I look out to the living room and eye the lumpy recliners.

  He’s passed out, how bad could it really be to sleep in the same bed? He probably won’t wake up until I’m already up and about.

  Taking a chance, I drop my clothes in the hamper and then slide into the bed, making sure to plug my phone in. The minute I settle myself on one of my pillows, I take a deep breath and sink into the mattress. I have a hot, nerdy man in my bed. Can’t say I’ve ever had that before. And then I’m no longer on my side of the bed.

  A well-built arm has pulled me into his strong body, spooning me to his front. Oh shit. God, he smells so nice. Feels so nice. On second thought, holy yum.

  So much for staying on each other’s side of the bed.

  Chapter Nine

  ANDREW

  What is that?

  My brain is full of fog, my mind not quite processing what I’m holding.

  Is that an orange?

  No, why would I be sleeping with an orange? Plus it’s way too soft to be an orange. I squeeze some more, eyes closed, trying to comprehend what the hell I’m holding on to.

  Wait, I feel something. Moving my palm down so my fingers can explore, I find that little nub that was poking my palm and I squeeze it between my finger and thumb. The tip of the orange? Maybe a rotten orange?

  It doesn’t smell citrusy . . .

  Needing to figure this out in my sleep-ridden brain, I give another hard squeeze only to be startled by a female cry.

  What the fresh hell?

  Sitting up, my eyes a blur because my glasses aren’t assisting me in my vision, I try to make out where the fuck I am. A girl—at least I hope a girl—sits up next to me, long blonde hair cascading down her shoulders.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  I know that voice. I reach over to the nightstand where I thankfully feel my glasses and push them on my face with my palms fumbling as Sadie’s very angry face comes into view.

  Oh shit.

  It all comes flashing back to me. Beer pong with Tucker, too many drinks, dancing with Sadie, calling her sugar britches, passing out in her bed. I’m going to take a wild guess and say Team Andrew isn’t fairing well right now.

  “Um.” I clear my throat, choking on how dry it is. “I didn’t know I was, uh, touching you.” Shrugging I ask, “Did you like it?”

  “What is wrong with you?” she asks, looking me up and down.

  “If I said I was still drunk would you believe me?”

  “No,” she answers firmly.

  All right, this isn’t working well for me; time to try a new tactic. Bringing the sheets up to my chest, covering my nipples, I ask, “Oh yeah, well why am I naked?”

  “What?” she asks, completely confused.

  “I remember wearing clothes last night and now look at me, bare for you to see. Taking advantage of a drunk man. What gives?”

  “Are you psychotic? You took your clothes off last night, used my toothbrush, and then passed out in my bed all on your own.”

  I chuckle to myself. Sounds about right.

  “What’s so funny?” she asks, her face gentling a little.

  Dropping the sheet now, I stretch up against the wall and tilt my head toward her. “You fell victim to Tanked Andrew. He’s a bold fella, takes risks like using people’s toothbrushes.”

  “And you’re proud of this?”

  I shrug my shoulders. “Eh, he’s okay. He got me a comfortable place to sleep last night, next to a pretty girl who likes a good bosom massage in the morning.”

  I eye her from the side and see a deep-tinted blush creep up her cheeks. “I did not like your little manhandling. It was unwarranted.”

  “Yeah, then why did your nipple get hard?” Bold question, maybe Tanked Andrew is still hanging around.

  “Because you were pinching it. It’s not going to take that kind of abuse and stay flat. If I did that to your nipples they would get hard too.”

  “Want to try?” I puff my chest out at her.

  “No!” She turns her head away from me but doesn’t get out of bed. Hmm. She also didn’t scoff when I called her pretty. I wonder what would happen if I tried making a move on her, like pulling her onto the mattress, throwing the covers over both of us, and kissing her in the dark.

  Wait! No, I’m supposed to be making friends with this woman, not envisioning kissing her. Jimmy would be so—

  She licks her lips and stares at my chest, her fingers twisting in the sheet on her lap.

  Oh fuck it. I don’t care what Jimmy thinks.

  This girl has me by my nuts with her mysteriously beautiful eyes, her rough edges, and the small glimpses of a smile I catch every now and then. She’s so goddamn beautiful that it’s hard not to think of her in any other way but romantically.

  Fuck my promise to my parents, I just need a taste.

  Tilting my head toward her, I nod in my direction and say, “Get over here, sugar britches.”

  “What?” Her eyes finally snap up to mine, wide as if caught red-handed. “No.”

  “You know you want to.” Under the covers, I move my hand closer to her.

  “No, I don’t.”

  I inch even closer. “Yes, you do. I can see it in your eyes. Now come here.”

  “You can see nothing.” She looks down at her lap but still doesn’t leave the bed. If she really wanted to be left alone, she could easily hop out. She makes no attempt to move away.

  So I lean toward her and slip my hand around her waist, my eyes still connected with hers. When I start to pull her toward me, her pupils go wide. “What are you doing?”

  “Giving you a hand. Now . . . come . . . here,” I grunt out, dragging her across the mattress until she’s right next to me, shoulder to shoulder. Straightening up, I tease, “See, that’s not so bad.”

  “This is ridiculous. Why do I need to sit right next to you?”

  “Easy, so we can do this.” Under the covers, I take her hand in mine and lace our fingers together.

  Her eyes remain focused on the wall in front of us as her fingers tighten around mine. It feels like she is gripping my heart. Dare I move forward? Dare I push her a little more?

  God, she smells sweet. Like cherries.

  I’m going with yes.

  “Thank you for taking care of me last night.”

  “I just drove so you wouldn’t crash your truck in a ditch.”

  I playfully shove her with my shoulder. “Something I greatly appreciate.”

  “It’s no big deal.”

  Wanting more, needing to see how far she’ll go, I pull on her hand so she’s forced to straddle my lap. Stumbling a little, not making the smooth transfer I foresaw, she head-butts my chest but then stumbles back when she gets her bearings.

  “What are you doing?” My hand lets go of hers and I grip her hips, willing myself not to get too excited and scare this woman away.

  “I wanted to see your face. Figured this was the easiest way,” I answer casually.

  “And sitting on your lap is the best way to do that?”

  “To me it is.” I smirk at her and from that little smile, her shoulders drop, the tension in her brow easing.

  Hmm, note to self: she seems to like my smile.

  “You know you’re my coworker, right?”

  “I’m well aware.” I move my hands slightly up her hips so my thumbs slip under her tank top where I rub them against her soft, silky skin.

  “I don’t get
involved with coworkers.”

  “Really?” I ask, moving my hands up just an inch higher. “That’s a shame, because I’m pro getting involved with coworkers. In fact, I was thinking about asking David out, but I’ve been nervous about his response.” I bite my lip and look nervous. “Do you think he’ll say yes?”

  Sadie laughs under her breath, making my heart expand a few inches more. She’s loosening up, and that realization makes my chest bolster with pride.

  “Well, given he has two little girls and a wife, I’m going to say you might get a big, fat rejection.”

  “Damn.” I shake my head and then peek up at her as I move my hands a little higher, now reaching her ribcage. “I do have my eyes set on another person, but that person hasn’t been very welcoming since I started. Not sure if I should go for it or not.”

  Smirking, a little sparkle in her eyes, she says, “I’m pretty sure if you ask, Blaine will say yes.”

  That garners a full-on belly laugh from me. Fucking Blaine. For some reason, I believe Sadie. I think Blaine would say yes, thinking it was some kind of wingman shit where he would spend the night high-fiving me over every girl that passes us. What a fucking nightmare that would be.

  “He’s option number three.”

  “Oh yeah, who’s option number two?”

  She’s going to make me work for it. Fair enough. I’m still completely amazed where I am. I. Am. In. Bed. With. Sadie. She’s on my lap. My hands are touching her gorgeous skin. Holy. Shit. I couldn’t imagine a girl like Sadie just giving in easily. No, Sadie’s a girl you work for, a girl you put your best suit and tie on for.

  “You know the blonde with the soulful eyes, killer ass, and sassy-as-hell attitude?”

  “Denise?” Sadie asks with a cute scrunch to her nose.

  I move my hands up another inch, my thumbs skimming beneath her breasts. With each stroke of my thumb, her breath hitches.

  “Not Denise.” I make up that last inch, hoping she doesn’t slap me away. The tops of my thumbs barely touch her bare breasts, and the soft graze makes us both clear our throats. “You have five seconds to decide if you don’t want me to kiss you because I’m not going to be able to hold back any longer.”