Page 36 of Keeping Laryn
“I’m curvy, not fat,” Laryn corrected. “And Tate doesn’t seem to mind my curves. I know what you did,” she hissed with narrowed eyes. “Drugging his drink. That’s fucking low.Criminal. And I’m going to make sure you pay. But first, I’m going to take him home and make sure whatever you gave Tate won’t fucking kill him.”
“What? Me? I did no such thing!” Barb protested.
But Laryn could see the fear in her eyes.
“Back. Off,” she growled.
To her surprise, Barb took a step back.
In the short time it took for her to have that little conversation with Barb, Tate had sagged against her so much, she was practically holding him upright. If she didn’t get him into his car, it was likely he’d fall to the ground right then and there. And she had a feeling the last thing he’d want was for her to call an ambulance. She wished his friends were still around. She knew they’d kick themselves for not waiting until they were all safely in their cars to head out, after they heard what happened.
If she truly felt Tate’s life was in danger, Laryn wouldn’t hesitate to call an ambulance. But she recognized a roofie victimwhen she saw one. Her dad had explained the dangers of the drug to her when she was a teenager, and years later, she’d seen a woman pass out in a bar after getting dosed. Thankfully, her friends had seen what happened and took her home before she could be taken advantage of. Tate would wake up with a headache and no recollection of anything after taking that shot. It was a good thing he had the next morning off.
Without another word to the fucking waitress, Laryn turned them toward the Taurus. She managed to get the passenger door open and deposit Tate inside. After she’d fastened his seat belt and shut the door, she looked back at where she’d last seen Barb, but the woman was nowhere to be seen.
Vowing to contact the bar the next day and report what Barb had done, she went around to the driver’s side and shut the door. Still fuming, and pissed at herself for not speaking upbeforeTate had been drugged, she started the engine and headed for her apartment.
Getting Tate inside wasn’t easy. Thankfully, she didn’t need to call any of his friends to help. She still had plans to tell them so they wouldn’t fall victim to Barb’s shenanigans in the future—not that she’d be working there any longer, hopefully—but for now, all her attention was on Tate.
He stumbled up the stairs to her apartment with her at his side, holding onto him for dear life. She thought he was going to fall on his face when she had to let go of him for a moment to grab her keys out of her pocket and open the door, but thankfully he stayed upright.
The second she got him into her room—she didn’t have the heart to put him on the lumpy sofa—he fell face down onto her mattress. She managed to get his boots and socks off, but now came the hard part.
She planned to get him settled, then go into the other room to get some sleep—in between getting up to check on him every couple of hours, to make sure he was breathing and hadn’t thrown up or anything—but first she needed to get him on his back and farther up on the bed.
Unfortunately, it seemed as if his assistance was now done. She couldn’t exactly be upset about that, since he’d at least remained semi-conscious enough for her to get him up to her place.
Crawling onto her bed, she kneeled next to Tate and tried to push him onto his back. He didn’t budge.
“Damn,” she muttered. “I had no idea you were this heavy.” She was well aware he couldn’t hear her and wouldn’t respond, but talking to him made her feel better. “What now?” she asked, more to herself than to the unconscious pilot.
Leaning down, she put her lips by his ear. “Tate?” she said quietly.
Then, more loudly, “Tate!”
To her delight, he smacked his lips a little. Maybe there was still hope to get his help.
“Roll over!” she ordered.
To her astonishment, he did—except he rolledtowardher, knocking her on her back. Before she knew what was happening, he’d snuggled against her, throwing an arm around her waist and burying his head between her boobs.
The tank top she was wearing wasn’t much of a barrier, and her nipples immediately hardened as he nuzzled closer.
“Tate?” she whispered, wanting to stay right where she was for the rest of her life.
He grunted in response and tightened his hold.
Closing her eyes, Laryn considered her options. She could stay where she was and slip out from under him once he fell completely asleep. Or she could do whatever was necessary to get out of this bed right now.
“Hot,” he mumbled, as he hitched a leg up over her thighs, further trapping her.
She was pretty sure he was telling her that his body temperature was hot, not that he thoughtshewas hot…as in good-looking, sexy, beautiful. As much as she might want to think that, she wasn’t delusional.
In the next second, Tate rolled away from her and reached for the zipper on the front of his flight suit.
This was her chance to scoot off the bed and make her escape…but Laryn was spellbound. She couldn’t take her eyes off his fingers as they made short work of unzipping the suit. Then his motions were uncoordinated and clumsy, but somehow he still managed to get both shoulders out of the material and push it down to his hips in record time.
Tate’s chest was a work of art. He was so muscular, and she was transfixed by the freckles that did indeed cover his entire body. His abs flexed as he struggled with the flight suit. He wasn’t coordinated enough in his drugged state to push it completely over his hips, which was probably just as well, because what she could see of his underwear was enough to make Laryn’s heart rate spike.
