“Come on, you have a problem, and I have the solution.” He flashed me a magnificent grin.
“Again, tipsy. Not stupid.”
He dropped to the floor and lay on his back, before raising his legs in the air. “This totally takes them away. When your legs are elevated, it restricts the amount of oxygen you can take into your lungs, and after a few minutes, the hiccups will subside.”
“Huh. That does sound kind of medically, like maybe you know a little something.”
“Give it a shot. Can’t hurt to try.”
After the roller coaster of a day I’d had, I suddenly wanted to give a lot of things a shot on the living room floor. I dropped next to him on my back and held my legs up, hoping I wouldn’t accidentally toot or something equally as embarrassing. After a minute, I hiccupped again. “This isn’t working.”
He rolled up on his elbow. “You have to give it a minute to work, missy.”
I looked over to see he was closer than I’d expected. “Okay.” I should’ve looked back up at the ceiling but instead kept staring at the face that belonged on a sexy romance novel cover. I’d never seen a man who was tough and beautiful at the same time.
Not many males could be considered beautiful, but his cheekbones, green eyes, and thick brown lashes reminded me of the shirtless hunky model guys doing sexy dance moves on a Tik Tok thing.
Then I realized I’d been examining his facial features for probably a solid minute while he just stared back at me. A flash of fire hit my stomach as I quickly looked away, just as a hiccup popped out. “Are you sure this works?”
“Nope.”
I looked back over as a mischievous expression crawled across his beautiful mug. “Nope?”
“It seemed like it might so I thought we should give it a try.”
He’s the guy who seems to have a girl he’s messed with around every corner. Don’t even look at those lips. Go upstairs now. Haul your tipsy ass anywhere this man is not! “Shut up.”
His eyes shot open. “Excuse me?”
“I was just talking to myself.” I sat up.
“Are you always that mean to yourself?” He hopped up, extended a hand, and helped me to my feet.
“Only when I need it. I should probably get to bed.” I looked down to see my hand still in his and gently pulled it away. “Thanks for your help today, along with a killer bar experience, and a high-speed shoot-out like no other.”
“Yes, a night to remember. And you did rock The Cheeky Monkey this evening. I can’t wait to see your mug on the wall next time. Good night, Fern Ethel.”
I gulped knowing if I leaned in one single inch, it would happen. I was suddenly very aware we were alone, and things could happen.
“Good night.”
I walked up the stairs, feeling his eyes burning into me, but I didn’t look back.
Once in my cozy black pajamas with little knives all over them, which at first glance might appear perfect for a serial killer but my nursing friends thought they were made for me, I plopped on the bed. I stared at the dark sky outside my window while Gabe ran through my mind like the 100-meter dash at the Olympics.
Even through the tilt-a-whirl that had been the last few hours of my life, I’d never felt so at ease with someone I’d met just met. His ability to become a superhero at a moment’s notice, the humor that resonated with me in a huge way, along with his muscles and green eyes that twinkled when he teased me, made it almost too much to bear. Ugh.
He also seemed to get me and not mind my weirdness. Or maybe that’s how smooth guys who sleep with lots of women get their way. By making the woman feel gotten. Mental note: remember you are reporting to the Virgin Islands in six weeks for a six-month nursing gig while Gabe will likely be in the arms of some beautiful woman. You know you attract all the players. Beware.
As I lay in the dark, I heard him walk past my room going to his bedroom down the hall. Did he slow in front of my door? Maybe I was imagining it. Big question, did he sleep in boxer briefs or pajama pants? For sure shirtless in my mind, because, well, why not?
I awoke to the morning sun shining on my pillow nearly blinding me. It was seven-thirty when I hopped up. Although I’d taken a shower before dinner last night, I took another to ensure I smelled downright delightful in case we were close. But clearly, I needed to stay away from any type of closeness with Gabe. Too hot for comfort.
I grabbed my black jeans, soft white tee, and pulled on my favorite burgundy cardigan.
I bopped downstairs and into the kitchen where Gabe was stirring a pot on the stove. He wore grey sweatpants and a black T-shirt that seemed to be highlighting his hulky chest and arms. His face was sexy, rugged, and looked badassy with his black eye and cuts. So freaking hot.
“What’re you cooking?” I sat on a stool at the center island where the stove was.
