Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 105183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
“He said he doesn’t want to ruin this. That he should have told me about Katherine.” I’m a fuckup. The anger he was projecting when he bellowed those words makes me feel like there’s more to it. Why would he tell me to leave and crack on with my life? Jesus, I’m too drunk to give this the headspace it deserves.
“That is quite sweet, though.” Charley smiles to herself. “Jude texting her.”
“Is he allowed to be sweet if he’s filthy?” Abbie asks.
“I don’t know.” Charley pouts. “Let’s call him and ask.” She lunges for my phone and hits the contact icon on the top. It’s ringing before my drunken brain can register what’s happening.
“Amelia?” Jude’s voice is low and thick with sleepiness.
Abbie and Charley put the backs of their hands on their foreheads, fainting over the table. Then they spring up. “Filthy!” they yell in unison, before they fall apart laughing. I must be drunker than I thought. I have no idea what’s going on.
“Amelia?” Jude says, louder this time. “Are you okay?”
“Jude?” I pick up my phone and put it to my ear.
“I’m here.”
“Fuck!” I cry, feeling like a megaphone’s held by my head.
“It’s on speaker, you dick.” Abbie chuckles.
“Amelia, what’s going on?” Jude asks. “Where are you?”
I look around, picking up my fresh cocktail and slurping. “In a wine bar.” I close one eye, trying to read the neon sign on one of the shelves behind the bar. “Gropes Cock.”
“What?”
Charley’s cheeks balloon and burst, spraying us. “Shit!” I blurt. “Furry cocks ache.” I stand to wipe myself down. I shouldn’t have. “Oh fear.” I sway, seeing three of Charley and four of Abbie. “We need to book more flights if we’re all going.” I fall back to the stool, the bar spinning, Abbie’s and Charley’s laughing faces blurring in and out of focus. “I think I’ve had too many winetails.”
And that’s the end of my night.
Chapter 29
I already know before I open my eyes that this hangover is going to overstay its welcome. Jesus fucking Christ. I squeeze my closed eyes tight, groaning, bracing myself to face the world. And light.
I open one eye.
Frown.
“I’m seriously pissed off,” Jude says, his face a twisted mess of disapproving lines as he leans over my horizontal form. “Do you always drink until you’re legless and incoherent?”
“No.” My voice is quiet. Sheepish. “Hardly ever, actually.” Just a few times in as many weeks. Ironically, more since I met Jude Harrison. I grimace and ease myself up to sitting, groaning as I do. “What are you doing here?” I ask, rubbing at my eyes, my head banging so hard. Then I register where I am. “Wait, what am I doing here?”
“I’ve never seen a woman so drunk in my life.” He stands, making the bed move. The ripple sends a shock wave through my body into my skull.
“Shit.”
“Seriously, Amelia, you were absolutely battered.”
“Alright, Dad,” I grumble. Jude raises surprised brows at me, and I roll my eyes. Mistake. “Ouch.”
“Here,” he mutters, holding out a bottle of Evian.
“Thanks.” I try to unscrew the cap, try with all my might, but the strain sends stabbing pains through my temple and into my skull. “I can’t do it,” I mutter. “It’s too tight.”
Jude huffs and removes the lid, handing it back. I chug down the ice-cold, heavenly liquid as he towers over me, waiting for me to finish so he can resume scolding me. I gasp and drop to my back, pulling the sheets over my head. Jude whips them straight back off. “Did you tell your friends I have anger issues?”
I freeze. Did I say that? Oh my God, I have absolutely no recollection of last night. Regardless . . . “How do you know what I’ve said to my friends?”
“Because they told me.”
“When?”
“When I was carrying you all one by one to my car.” Accusing eyes drill into me.
“Oh.” I wince. “You were at the bar?”
“No, I came to the bar when I finally got some sense out of one of you.”
“Oh.”
“And took your friends home.”
“Oh.”
“Filthy?”
“What?”
“Jude Fuckboy Harrison?”
I press my lips together, cringing. “Sorry.”
“You will be.” He lays himself over me, pressing me to the bed, his lovely, clear complexion annoyingly fresh. “You stink.”
“Get away from me then,” I retort.
“Never.” He swoops in and kisses me hard and long, probably tasting the copious amount of alcohol I allowed past my lips last night. But still. This is nice. And an unexpected wake-up.
I hum, my hangover forgotten, my libido raging as I circle his bare shoulders and trap him in my thighs. “I’m blaming the cocktail-tasting session you forced on me.”
He huffs. “Sure. You’d better check in with your friends.”
“Soon.”
He breaks away, and I grumble. “Your phone’s been ringing. I would have answered, but I’m not sure I want to talk to your ex.” Another hard kiss before he breaks away and walks off.