After the Storm by Faith Andrews

Author:Faith Andrews [Andrews, Faith]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: After the Storm, Dream
Published: 2015-09-19T04:00:00+00:00

“Well, that sounds way fucking better than what you originally had planned. I mean, I feel bad she was upset, but, dude! This is good! You’re totally going to score.”

I scowl into the phone. “Why is it always about scoring for you, Blaze? I thought Fitzgerald knocked some sense into you.”

“And I thought Willow pulled the stick from your grumpy old ass.”

I could sit around and let Blaze get the best of me all day with his ridiculous outlook on life or I could get to the real heart of the matter. “Never mind, asshole. Can I borrow your car?” I hate asking for favors from anyone, but I’d like to forgo the truck tonight for something a little more classy. “She’ll probably have on a dress and heels and I want her to be able to slide into a sedan comfortably, not have to hike up onto the running board of my pickup.”

Blake hesitated, the stingy SOB. “You know I don’t like lending out my Benz.”

“Are you fucking using it? We know you’re not, so quit being Scrooge and do your friend a favor.”

“Only if you give me all the details about her tight ass, her smoking tits, and those fuckable lips.”

“That’s enough!” I growl. Yes, I’m defensive. He may see Willow as a hot piece of ass, but I don’t. I mean, I do, but . . . you know what I mean!

“Alright, alright, alright, don’t get your boxers in a bunch. No more badmouthing your girl. Oh shit! Noah has a girl, Noah has a girl.”

“Blaze, you on Oxy again? You’ve gotta be high.”

“Only on life! And I’m living vicariously through you since I ain’t getting any action for God knows how long.”

“Wish I could say I feel bad for you, but I don’t. Your last taste of action’s what got you in your crippled state. This dry spell might be good for you—your priorities are a little whack.”

“Well, there’s definitely been some whacking, but I’m not a lefty so it’s been a struggle.”

“Blaze! Really? Just . . . can I use your car or not?”

A throaty chuckle escapes him. I picture his good hand flopping his way-too-long hair out of his face as he laughs. I just want to get off this phone already and plan my evening with Willow. “Where are you taking her?”

That’s the question of the day. I had so many ideas run through my head: a picnic on the beach in Laguna, a carnival, the latest chick flick, all the typical first date things. But Willow isn’t typical. I’d love to do something special for her. But what?

“You have no clue, do you?”

“Nope. Got any ideas?”

“Wow, so this is a far cry from booty calls at Tori’s, I take it?”

I’m not even answering that. He knows better than to classify those two women in the same category. “Blaze . . .”

“Okay! If you want my honest opinion, she doesn’t seem like the kind of girl who needs to be impressed. From what I heard from Sloane—”

I cut him off there; I want the gossip like a middle-aged washwoman.

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