Free Falling for Mister Wrong by Lizzie Shane Page B

sounded
like salvation on multiple levels.

 
     
     
     
    Chapter Nine
    Caitlyn groaned at the throbbing in her
skull, then coughed as the groan shredded against the rawness in
her throat, then whimpered as the volume of the coughing made the
jackhammer in her head pick up the pace.
    Hangover with a side of inferno.
    And deathly embarrassment.
    She hauled the comforter up to her eyebrows,
wondering how long she could pretend the last twenty-four hours
hadn’t happened. Though if she was erasing history, maybe she
should go further back. About six months should do it.
    No more Mister Perfect. No more public
humiliation or setting her apartment on fire and making an idiot of
herself in front of insanely hot fireman neighbors.
    She lowered the comforter enough to peek at
the clock on the bedside table. Ten sixteen. She had no idea when
she’d finally gotten to sleep the night before, after the rest of
the fire-fighters showed up and Mimi arrived to pick her up. She’d
left her apartment in their hands, Will promising to lock the
building’s exterior door, since hers no longer sat right on its
hinges after he’d kicked it in to get to her.
    She wasn’t worried about her stuff. It was
Tuller Springs, after all, where crime was pretty much limited to
the occasional act of vandalism or reckless endangerment by
thrill-seeking snowboarders and no one was more than two degrees of
separation away from anyone else.
    Which didn’t explain how she’d never met
Will.
    She’d had no idea her downstairs neighbor was
so hot. Tall and rippling with muscle, with dark brown hair a
little on the long and shaggy side and the most soulful brown eyes
she’d ever seen in her life, fringed by lush black lashes that any
girl would kill for.
    He must be taken. It was the only reason Mimi
or one of her other friends wouldn’t have tried to set them up with
one another. Not surprising. That body, those eyes, a core of
heroism—guys like that were never single.
    But there’d been a moment last night when
she’d been so certain he was about to kiss her.
    Probably her imagination. She’d never been
very good at reading signals. Homeschooling and world concert tours
hadn’t exactly done her any favors when it came to social
interactions with the opposite sex. She’d been so relieved when
everything was so natural and easy with Daniel.
    Daniel.
    Her stomach rolled nauseously.
    And kept on rolling.
    Caitlyn scrambled out of bed and bolted for
the bathroom, making it there just in time to empty her stomach in
a wrenching heave. She flushed and groaned, sagging to the floor
beside the toilet in case her stomach decided it wasn’t done
rejecting the vodka. “Never again,” she promised the sink.
    “That’s what they all say.”
    Caitlyn looked up, grimacing as the bathroom
light hit her squarely in the eyes. It was tempting to tell Mimi to
get lost and let her wallow in peace, but then the objects in
Mimi’s hands registered – a jumbo bottle of aspirin and a glass of
water.
    “Bless you.”
    Mimi handed over the goods and folded herself
down onto the bathroom floor beside Caitlyn, in the narrow space
between her feet and the vanity. Today her yoga pants were hot
pink, the streak in her hair was electric blue, and layered tank
tops of yellow and purple completed the color assault. “I believe
this is what is known in the business as a cry for help.”
    “What business is that?” Caitlyn rinsed with
the water, downed the aspirin and let her head thunk against the
wall—it was entirely too heavy for her neck right now.
    “I think getting drunk and setting your own
house on fire is a cry for help in pretty much every business ever
invented,” Mimi said dryly.
    “I didn’t set my house on fire. It was a tiny
little electrical issue.”
    “Of course it was. But to ease my mind, you
won’t be watching any more episodes by yourself. Capisce ?”
    “Yes, Don Mimi.” She should get up. The last
thing she needed was for Mimi’s two kids