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“Not my fault you’re all loved up and married,” I reminded him. “Since when are you so clingy? Don’t you have Shepard to do dude stuff with?” Rand Shepard, another driver, was Mason’s best friend, and the current NASCAR champion. I wasn’t afraid to say I was looking to beat him this year, but he was gunning to make it back-to-back. He probably would, too, with Hutch Kelly as his crew chief. Dude was flawless.
Mason rolled his eyes. “Dude stuff? He’s busy. Besides, when you meet the right person, you’ll change your man-whoring fuckboy ways, too. Trust.” He nudged my side. “London has a friend.” He wiggled his brows.
“Nope, not interested.” I pushed him away. For once, I meant it. My dick and I wanted Holt.
“Tessa’s pretty cute.”
“I said I wasn’t interested.” Unless it was Holt, then maybe... God, what was wrong with me? Maybe I should meet this Tessa chick. “You got a picture?” I asked against my better judgment.
Mason grinned at me. “Ha! I knew it, because if you turned down a girl, I might start to get worried about you. Hold up.” He slid his phone from his pocket and unlocked it. “Here they are on London’s IG.” He shoved his cell in my face.
“Her hair is silver,” I blurted out, although she wasn’t ugly. Nice rack, full lips, pretty smile. “What?” I snapped when I met his gaze.
Mason shook his head. “You’re acting strange, Watts. Like, stranger than normal. Did you hit your head on something? Burn off a few brain cells from the exhaust inside the racecar this weekend?” He snickered.
“Fuck off.” I gave him the bird.
“You‘re normally not so, I don‘t know... picky. She‘s London‘s best friend, other than her sister, and I trust her. Except for the time she dyed London‘s hair. That was a terrible idea, but we fixed that.”
I twisted my lips. “Eh, I don‘t know.” My dick was not really interested in Tessa. He wanted Holt, who had apparently decided he didn’t want me after all.
“She’s at the house. You could come over and meet her right now.”
“Ugh, fine. But I’m not promising anything,” I warned.
***
This might have been one of the worst ideas of my life, and that was saying a lot, because I’d had a lot of them over the years. It was how I rolled.
Tessa was not interested in me, and neither my dick nor I was interested in Tessa.
She was a hot chick who smelled nice—I liked nice smelling things, don’t judge a guy—but she was hung up on some dude who lived in the motel she worked at and wouldn’t stop talking about him. Like, the entire time I was there. So, I spent the whole time at the Pelletier’s house getting drunk on the expensive scotch Mason kept in his liquor cabinet. I was actually shocked London didn’t kick me out. Pretty sure if she had been Brooklyn—her sister, who was married to Shepard—this night would have gone in a completely different direction.
I was so drunk I was surprised I managed to not pass out in the back of the Uber on the way home. Another one of Watson Brooks’s brilliant ideas. God, I was so dumb.
I tried to be as quiet as I could, I really did, but when you’re drunk, you think you’re doing things a lot differently than you are. I closed the door behind me, toed off my shoes, and started up the stairs to my room, where I found Holt glaring down at me so hard I could feel the anger radiating off him.
“Have fun tonight?” His hazel eyes were narrowed into angry slits.
This was the part where I missed a step, slipped, and smacked my chin on the stair as I went down. The pain was so bad it nearly made me cry out, and I immediately tasted blood on my tongue.
“Shit, Watson, are you okay?” Holt bounded down the steps, his hands on my shoulders. “That looks bad.” He tugged my head up to meet his eyes. “You might need stitches.”
I shook my head. “N... no.” I blinked back tears. “Bed.” It hurt really fucking bad, though.
“Can you walk?”
I managed to get to my feet with his help, and when he hooked an arm around my waist, relief flooded my body. “Th... thanks,” I muttered. When we stopped outside my room, I shook my head. “Yours.”
“Mine?” Holt looked confused.
“Your bed.”
His body went stiff. “Watson, no.”
“H...” I pleaded. “Please.”
Holt let out a low sigh but started to move down the hallway to where his room was and helped me inside. His scent hit me like a brick, and I wanted to bathe myself in it. Warm and sweet, like home, and I wanted to shake him. Tell him I had wanted to spend the day with him today. Not get drunk around some stranger who did nothing for me.
