I giggle and he laughs, and—I like him. He’s funny.
“Cuffs? Did you say cuffs?” Marr wakes up. “I have always wanted to try that shit. Oh, if you were just a little younger. If I were older. Oh, if I were a happy lamb in a meadow, racing.” She lolls her head back again.
“Abs, we gotta get her home,” says Liesl. “Hey, Parker, you’re a strong guy. Can you help us get Abby’s mommy dearest to the cah?” She snorts.
I roll my eyes. “Stop it.”
Boston picks up Marr in his arms as if she were a stuffed doll. “Lead me to it, ladies,” he says, and Liesl drains the rest of her last margarita before trotting to the door in her heels.
“Hold it.” Boston stops. “You’re completely wasted, Liesl. Who’s drivin’?”
“I am,” I sigh. “Like usual. I only had one drink. I’m good.”
“You sure?” He gives me a long look.
“Oh, do you want to administer a breathalyzer?” I snap. Then I laugh, because I can’t help it; my dirty mind is going there. And to my delight, so does Boston’s.
He laughs. “How about the kind that cops want from bad girls?” He makes his voice into a deep southern drawl. “On your knees, little lady, and put this in your mouth. It’s my test stick to see if you’re drunk.” He sounds like Bill Clinton.
I punch his arm. “You are gross.”
He winks. “You should see yah face. Tell me where to deposit this lovely armful now, ladies.” He adjusts Marr, who is drooling onto his shirt. Is it messed up that I’m a little jealous of her sagging head right now, because it’s propped up on his muscular chest? The truth is that I wouldn’t mind—in a very different situation—having his “test stick” available for various kinds of pleasure for the both of us, but he’s just being a raunchy tease.
We get to my car and Boston carefully arranges Marr in the backseat, where she flops over and snores. It’s not clear whether she’s okay, or if she’s so drunk that we should swing by the ER or something.
Liesl stands there with me, probably having the same thoughts. She wrinkles her nose. “This is the last time we take. Her. Anywhere. Because now we have to babysit her all night to make sure she doesn’t die.”
I nod. “Lesson learned. Point taken. Complete agreement granted.”
Boston touches my arm. “See you tomorrow then, at my studio. Eight a.m., yeah?” He smiles and leans in and I stiffen in eager anticipation, awaiting another tingly kiss on my cheek. But he just looks into my eyes. “I’m glad I said yes to your project,” he says. “We are going to have a hell of a lot of fun.”
Boston on Amazon (Free on Kindle Unlimited)
Thanks to my husband and daughter for being patient with my schedule and my magnetic attraction to my computer. I love you.
Thanks to my sisters, Maria Monroe and Adrienne Perry, for your support and inappropriate jokes.
Thanks to my fantastic cover designer, Sarah Hansen from Okay Creations. You took my description of “something artistic and pretty, but not paranormal or anything, and can it also be a little sexy, but no couple on the cover, and it should be cool with good colors,” figured out what I meant, and made me something gorgeous.
Thanks to Erica Scott for editing my many typos which I cannot see myself, even if you pay me a million dollars. This is how a conversation between us might go:
Erica: You spelled your name wrong.
Me: Oh, really? What, like an extra A or something?
Erica: You listed your name as Brunhilde Willington and you’re really Alexis Alvarez. Also, you had the word “of” too many times in the title.
Me: Sometimes I put it twice by accident, yeah.
Erica: You had seventeen “of’s” in a row. They were all in Bleeding Cowboy font.
Me: Oops.
Thanks to chocolate. You are a nice, good thing.
And thanks to you, for reading my book. XOXO
A Handful of Fire Page 27