Darling Rebel: A New Adult Enemies to Lovers Romance by Liv Knight

Author:Liv Knight [Knight, Liv]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HEGGE PRESS
Published: 2022-05-28T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14 (Stone)

I wake with a jolt, horrified, because I think I may have actually pissed myself. My pants are soaked and sticking to my body like a wet rag.

And then I breathe a sigh of relief because it’s just from the waves: I must have fallen asleep for long enough that the tide rose a good few feet and now it’s lapping up to my thighs, drenching my lower body.

I pat the pocket of my jeans frantically and, thank God, the water hasn’t reached my ass yet. The seat of my pants is a little damp but not soaked, and my phone in my back pocket is dry. I take it out and stumble to my feet when I see the time. It’s twenty past midnight, and I was supposed to be in the backstage area at midnight to start tear-down and loading.

I reach down to retrieve my backpack and the bottle of vodka. The backpack is fine: wet, but at least there. But the bottle is not. I walk in circles, skimming the beach around the spot where I was sitting. But it’s nowhere to be found; obviously washed out with the tide.

That bottle was three-quarters full.

I kick at the wooden post because seriously: come on. This week has sucked enough already; can I not just catch a break for one lousy night?

But I’m already twenty minutes late now and I need to split. I sling the backpack over my shoulder and head towards the festival grounds. My soaked jeans cling to my calves and every step feels water-logged. Also, everything around me is out of focus: the horizon line a little off kilter and the lights from the amusement park harsh and blurry and kind of nauseating. I have to slow my pace because it’s a struggle not to just fall back into the sand and fall asleep.

After what feels like an eternity, I reach the festival grounds. The crowds are gone and now there are just small patches of people in clumps of twos and threes, packing up and pulling down wires, and a few scattered vendors counting money and closing up shop. I make my way over to the stage area, which is the busiest spot, and nod at Billy (the head roadie who hired me), when he beckons me over with a wave. He’s coiling a cable around his hairy forearm, but he stops and watches me as I make my way over.

“You’re late,” he says as soon as I reach him. He scrutinizes me with eyes that look like they miss nothing. He’s one of those guys who looks like he could be forty or he could be seventy-five. And I can’t tell if he’s a hippie or a biker-dude - he could be either. Maybe he’s both.

“Yeah.” I meet his harsh gaze head-on. “I’m really sorry, man. It won’t happen again.”

“No. It won’t,” he growls. “Caus if it does, you’re out of a job.”

I can tell he means it, too. I apologize again because I need this gig more than I need my right arm.

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