The Next Day (Foothills Book 2) by Carrie Thorne (mind reading books .txt) 📗

in two bites, but wished he hadn’t, the aftertaste was ripe with sugar and whatever weird cooking oil they’d used, making his tongue feel like a sweaty block of plywood.

He was about to warn Freya they were awful, but it was too late. Her face scrunched as she finished hers. In the distance, the music changed again and almost sounded appealing for dancing. The bride and her father spun together on an expansive dance floor surrounded by globe lights. The sun set in the distance and the sky began to darken.

Zane stood and held his hand out to ask Freya to join him. She slid her hand into his and rose from the table. Giving a soft wave to the rest of the table, they snuck away.

“One dance before we head up?” He asked as they crossed the lawn.

“Sure,” she grinned.

A server handed them each a glass of champagne and continued to pass out drinks. As they reached the dance floor, typical, the music stopped. A hammy-ass toast from the best man, the maid of honor, the father of the bride… until their champagne was gone. Damn, his head was swimming already, his headache dulled thanks to all the liquor, but tomorrow was going to suck.

As the music started back up again, Freya looped her arms around him and swayed with the hokey tune. “Too much champagne,” she muttered against his chest, slurring a little.

“Exactly what I was thinking. I think that cocktail was…” he trailed off as he lost his train of thought. His chest rattled as laughter threatened. Why was that so funny?

Freya pinched his side, “Are you laughing?”

A loopy giggle bubbled up in his throat. “Apparently,” he slurred. Even his teeth felt numb.

Giggling like the boisterous partiers, she held his hand and spun out for a twirl.

He wound her back in and wrapped his arms around her waist. Her hands laced around the back of his neck, pulling him close and kissing his brains out in the middle of the crowd.

A million tiny lightbulbs flashed on with a thousand ideas all at once as every train of thought that had run through his head over the past month collided in a jumble of contorted metal. Unlocking his lips from Freya’s, he caught his breath. “I’m past slashed.”

She devoured him again in a ravenous kiss, then pulled away. “Stoned off our asses. The drinks or the cupcakes or both, but,” she inhaled slowly and blinked a few times.

“Let’s go upstairs and get some water and sober up. I don’t trust a damn thing around here.”

Glancing around, Freya nodded. “I wondered why there were no kids here. Huh. Yes. Let’s get the hell out of here. I’m so hungry. Let’s get takeout from that place across the street first.”

10

The Next Day

Mouth parched like she’d swallowed a jar of glue then slept with her mouth open, underwire digging into her chest, thong riding up her crack, Freya groaned and raised her sandpaper eyelids. What an awful night. If her cousin hadn’t taken off yet, she was going to tear her a new one for lacing something they’d ingested. Wasn’t that illegal? And potentially dangerous?

As she shifted to drink a gallon of water then take a long, hot shower, Freya found herself locked in a firm embrace. Zane’s arm and leg were wrapped around her like tree roots, the belt on his slacks digging into her backside.

Grabbing his hand to unlock his grip, a metallic clink and tugging sensation on her finger froze her solid. Lowering her gaze, knowing before she saw, her pulse kicked into high gear. Swallowing a whimper before she woke him, not ready to face him, she managed to free herself from his octopus snuggle.

The shiny band on her finger caught at glimmer of sunlight as she sat up in bed. Holy shit. What had she done?

Sitting on the side of the bed, too dizzy to stand up yet, she stared at her finger. A good-sized sapphire was embedded in a delicate, winding river of platinum. Biting her cheek, she refused to let herself cry. Not that any tears would come out, she was so damn dehydrated.

Without her next to him, Zane groaned and pulled a pillow over his face. Did he have any idea that he was wearing a black titanium band on a very important finger? Part of her really hoped he remembered how they’d gotten in this predicament, but most of her hoped he was as shocked as she was.

Easing off the bed, her legs wobbly beneath her, she snuck into the bathroom and drank and drank and drank until her cheeks were no longer adhered to her teeth. Stalling for as long as was practical, she lingered under the cleansing spray of the shower until her fingertips turned to puckered prunes.

When she could hide no longer, she tiptoed out of the bathroom and pulled on her jeans and a cotton t-shirt. She brewed her vile hotel coffee, cringing as it made out a noisy grinding sound. Looking to the bed, Zane was still hidden under the pillow.

Sneaking out onto the deck, she sipped the bitter brew and stared at her finger. If she weren’t so freaked at what it meant, she might have found it a pretty piece of jewelry.

The rising sun glinted off the surface of the water, the peaks in the distance standing tall and proud. Not many people out yet, the property was blissfully quiet. Too quiet. Her memory of last night was a gigantic black hole. Last thing she remembered was escaping that awful party.

Grumbling behind her, Zane rolled out of bed. She froze, hoping he wouldn’t come out yet. Let her get her head on straight first. Not looking back, she heard the brewer powering away at his coffee, the shower starting moments later.