Surrender by A. M. Wilson

Author:A. M. Wilson [Wilson, A. M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-11-08T16:00:00+00:00

17

Whitney

You’d think I’d have learned not to drink so much by my mid-thirties. Though it seems the older I get, the quantity doesn’t matter. I’m going to wind up with a shitty hangover whether I had a glass of wine or did a line of shots—even if I can’t remember the last time I did a line of shots.

In fact, I don’t remember drinking much last night at all.

Thank god for Jack having blackout curtains. At least the morning light isn’t contributing to my throbbing headache. The nausea twisting my stomach is another discomfort, along with the tightness of my cheeks and the gritty feeling in my eyes.

What the hell did I do last night?

I roll to my back, and my arm collides with something hard and warm. My head jerks to the left so quickly I almost sprain something.

I’m in bed with Jack Powell. His bed. Not the floor. Not naked—I lift the covers and check my body.

Nope, not naked.

Although I’m in the same clothes I wore to the bar last night. Gross.

He appears to be asleep. Eyes closed, and pink lips slightly parted. His chest rises and falls with his even breaths. Black sweatpants ride low on his hips, his chest covered by a light gray cotton tee, and it doesn’t escape my notice that he’s lying atop the covers beside me.

And like a faucet being flipped on, the night comes rushing back in startling Technicolor.

Devon is alive. And he found me.

He wants the insurance money.

Bree kept my kids overnight because I was drunk? No, distraught.

And somehow, Jack showed up at the bar. Someone called him, one of the other girls, and he came for me. I’m not sure what to make of that through my fuzzy brain, but upon initial inspection, all the feelings related to Jack Powell are good ones.

I vaguely remember asking him to stay last night as I crashed. A warmth spreads through my chest as I take in his position. He’s fully clothed and on top of the covers. He clearly didn’t want to cross any boundaries last night. Just one more thing I can appreciate about him.

I sneak from the bed to use his bathroom. I brush the stale alcohol from my mouth and pop a couple of ibuprofen for the headache. After chugging a glass of cool water, I creep carefully back into the bed.

“My turn,” he grumbles, his voice gritty with sleep. Those two words pulse straight between my legs.

“Morning, Jack,” I murmur, watching him rise from his side of the bed. His hair is a twisted mess that only makes him hotter.

His sleepy gray eyes crinkle at the corners as he gives me a soft smile. “Good morning. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

Anything short of a natural disaster won’t move me from this bed until he says it’s okay for me to do so. I watch his ass as he walks out of the room, and the moment he rounds the corner, I tug at the neckline of my shirt to fan myself.

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